“A Seated Young Woman,” oil on canvas, by Bertha Wegmann, c. 1882.
Your parents lied when they said you could be
anything you wanted when you grow up.
You cannot be a dragon or a peregrine falcon.
More disappointment: It’s unlikely you will find
a job you love, or a lover who understands you,
or an understanding of life that makes any sense.
It’s likely your parents lied about other things too.
So have your friends, your teachers, your exes,
your coworkers—nearly everyone you’ve ever met.
This makes you sad and something new
breaks inside you every time you think
of what you wanted to be, or do, or have, or feel.
Now you want to leave, and I don’t blame you.
The job, the marriage, the town, the country,
the planet. But even if I’m the only one asking,
Stay. Please stay.
Here’s how: Tie a rope around your waist
when you enter the dark cave, lightly
and tightly, the way you’d tie a string
around a child’s wrist to keep her balloon
from floating away in the wind. Then tie
a set of bells around your ankles.
If the tinkling grows faint, I will call
your name. I will say it over and over,
like a prayer. I will hold the rope and not let go.
If the music stops, I will pull you out.
Marissa Glover lives in Florida, where she’s busy swatting bugs and dodging storms. Her work has been featured in journals and anthologies around the world. Marissa’s poetry collections are published by Mercer University Press: Let Go of the Hands You Hold (2021) and Box Office Gospel (2023). Her third book of poetry, Some Intangible Mercy, will be released by MUP in early 2027. Follow Marissa on social at _MarissaGlover_.
