hold me while the sun sets

i am tiptoeing along the very last pebble of girlhood’s cliff
and it feels as if any day now i will fall right off and land into the body of a woman
the hips that i once loathed for looking far too wide and misshapen on my form
now look like they might just be fit to give birth to a child one day
and the men of oakland whose whistles upon those same hips
once summoned quick pants and heaving hearts
no longer bring forth my scamper,
but clever recants shot from my tongue like darts

down in my naive complaining and forsaking, i forgot to open my eyes
and now i see, this place has left my skin freckled and my soul baptized
and even when it took my innocence, that i had so prepared for myself to grieve
i found something so freeing in the ruins, my body could only rejoice with relief
from the many months of crying in school bathrooms over the words of cruel girls,
i now find myself praying to jesus, they never trade their ferocity for pearls

the clock is ticking close to midnight and i’m afraid i’m about to lose my slipper
so hold me while the sun sets over the indian rock
tell me of your dreams in family-man glory while i whisper of mine in literature
and we can watch the world go by, waiting for adulthood’s knock

i’ll trade you my dream of a mediterranean home with walls buried in ivy
if you tell me the names of your future children and all your fantasy careers
and when my tongue starts to twist over the money, flash me that grin you do so well
and i’ll give you enough nostalgia to get through the 40-something years

this evening, i will lie under the great oak until the last acorn falls like my knees
worshipping my adolescence as time races by, inconspicuous as the breeze
and my plans of marching through foreign gardens and swimming in the seven seas
look so trivial tonight, as the san francisco ocean air tickles my bare feet

and of course, i am so scared
but tonight, you are holding me while the sun sets
and that is its own sort of prayer.

Copyright © 2025 Anita Marie Julca