My best friend Bonnie <br />used to hook her little finger around mine. <br />We would take the train into the City, <br />walk around the West Village, <br />shop for beads and baubles. <br />Our elbows kissed, <br />arm around the other’s waist. <br />Squares said we looked like <br />we just stepped off the boat: <br />kerchiefs tied behind long auburn hair, <br />matching denim skirts swung like bells, <br />narrow ankles tucked in Chinese shoes. <br />We knew we were cool, <br />going for the hippy look. <br />Cross-legged on her quilt-covered bed, <br />we beaded headbands on a small loom, <br />or embroidered our bell-bottom jeans. <br />Oh, the intoxication of secrets, <br />of unrestrained giggles, <br />how we let the boys <br />touch us everywhere but there. <br />Vaginas safely harbored <br />under layers of Carter’s and slips, <br />white upon white, <br />under denim, under patches, <br />future poet, future artist, <br />humming the Grateful Dead, <br />“…where does the time go? ”<br /><br />Lori Desrosiers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/girls-1970/
