Taming the Monster

Upon the mantlepiece in our front room,
A papier mache egg took pride of place,
A sepia photograph on either side.
A child with curly hair and soulful eyes
Looked out at me and filled my heart with rage.
My straight hair would not curl, my mother said.

‘Reminds me of your cousin Valerie,’ she said.
And while I put my feelings to one side.
She’d look at it with tender, smiling eyes,
Then dust it and return it to its place.
With tears held back until I’d left the room,
I’d creep away, straight haired, to hide my rage.

Those images once left me so enraged,
I smashed the egg, kicked it across the room.
Two faces squashed; they looked quite out of place.
Two smirking smiles now firmly set aside.
‘You’ll pay for this, you bad girl,’ Mother said.
A hard, sharp smack caused tears to fill my eyes.

Then on the mantlepiece, that empty place,
Where once the egg had drawn my mother’s eye,
A myriad of voices echoing words unsaid,
Urged me to ditch my green-eyed rage;
To keep away, to take my shame outside,
No more to desecrate our fine front room.

In time, viewing the matter with new eyes,
I thought that after all was done and said,
My mother should have understood my rage,
Not made comparisons, but left more room
For me to shine, to take my rightful place
Within her heart and proudly at her side.

Now Valerie and I walk side by side,
Good friends, without a sign of childish rage.
The Easter egg, still squashed, now in my room,
Has eased the pain of what my mother said.
That child with curly hair and soulful eyes,
Can’t hurt me now; she’s in her rightful place.

When mother said, ‘Straight hair is now the rage,’
Her twinkling eyes showed me her other side
And our front room is now a joyful place.