Parental Proverbs

The first time my mother said Beauty
takes pain, I don’t think I gave a shit
about beauty – I made my limbs so
heavy and limp she could barely drag
me out of the sandbox as my yowls
pierced the air like a needle
into a birthday balloon. She
scrubbed the sand off my knees and
elbows in dirt-tinged bathwater, my
voice amplified by the acoustics of a
bathroom – I hate you! I hate you!
I’ll never know why she didn’t lick
her palm and slap me good and hard, why
her tired and sunken eyes stayed focused
on the task at hand – pulling my whirlwind of
hair into pigtails and forcing that lavender
dress over my flushed, frustrated face.
My father looked on, smirking, and said:
Like mother, like daughter. I didn’t know why
she slapped him good and hard, but that
was the last time I ever heard that one.