One should always have a secret life.
Great Aunt Edna always wore
her silvery hair tight in a bun—
at night she unpinned,
and the glistening waves
came crashing to her waist.
I liked to watch
“prim and put-together”
transform to little mermaid,
sitting at the gilded vanity,
sliding her tortoise shell comb
through the strands.
Someday, my little-girl-self
would grow into the kind of woman
who could choose if —and when—
to let loose the wild seas.