Tenuousness

 So, I'm worried some of the imagery here is a little too...cryptic. But for now I can't seem to find a way to say what I mean without explaining too much. Doing so is DIRECTLY contrary to the immortal words of Mark Twain.

 And we must avoid that at all costs, mustn't we?

"Mouse-child"

I am
delicate.

I should be a sprite
that would go whirling
across the air
with unbuttoned coat.

But thighs and breasts
give me a name
that is not mine.

I must walk as a mouse,
the way I was taught
in ballet class.
I must not be an elephant.

But, Oh! to be wrinkled and gray!
To walk like a pendulum,
great legs swinging!

I am tenuous, tentative -
a child told
she is too old now,
she can't say what she likes
anymore.
That she must take care
to keep her knees smooth
and unskinned
from tree-climbing.