She’s eight,
And eight’s
Almost too old
For playing dress-up, but
Not quite.
Today, her mother’s old green dress–
Too big. She doesn’t care.
Princesses wear dresses.
Today,
She’ll wear one too.
A twirl turns the skirt
Into a swirling whirlwind.
The straps slide off her shoulders;
A tug, and she twirls on.
Tomorrow, she’ll be
Much
Too old
For silly things like that.
And soon, she is
Fifteen,
And she has learned
Princess is not for her.
Princesses have long, blonde hair
That curls just so;
Princesses don’t wear Converse.
Princesses don't do anything.
That’s why she’s glad she’s
Not.
The dresses, though–she likes that part.
This one’s fairy-tale blue,
All foamy tulle and sleekest silk.
For that, she’ll play pretend
For now, at least.
Midnight’s not too far away,
And then
It’s back to scrubbing floors,
Humming last night’s song.
And when
She thinks no one will see,
She’ll dance.