by Michelle Meyer
I pulled my hand out of her hand
somewhere around Maurice’s, Cinnabon or
possibly Orange Julius.
We were having one of our Mother/Daughter days.
They were always at the mall.
Madonna was always singing Like a Virgin.
It was 1984. I was 14. I was
She reached for my hand to reassure me, to say,
I’m always here for you. To say,
Don’t grow up just yet—don’t go
into that dressing room as my only girl and emerge
as your own woman.
I let go
of her hand.
I let go
of her hand and grabbed a pair of stirrups—
the kind that everyone at school was wearing.
I walked into the dressing room and
* * * * *
Michelle Meyer is a freelance copy/content/blog writer specializing in performing arts, boutique, and specialty business. She has written, directed, and produced numerous live theatre skits and plays and her poems have been published in Australia and the Midwestern region of the U.S. When Covid season struck in 2020 she facilitated a 52-week collaborative online installation of women’s visual art based on 52 of her poems from The Book of She, a collection of character vignettes devoted to women. Find the whole book on Instagram @meeshmeyerwrites