The ’90s Girl’s Guide to Losing Her Mother, According to the Movies
Wear a piece of your dead mother’s jewelry at all times.
It could be a silver cross on a chain of rope,
found tangled in a velvet hinged jewelry box.
Even if she never wore it, it’s what you’re looking for—
a lost-wax cast precious metal to panic over if misplaced.
Let it hang, awkwardly large, over your Limited Too graphic tees
and one-piece Speedos—
like the one you wear as you torment your nanny. Pour pickle
juice in her Diet Mountain Dew and serve to her as she suns by the pool.
She’ll gag and spit, attempt to regain composure. Why do you hate
me, she’ll ask. Hide her keys, roll your eyes, pretend to be asleep
when she comes to say goodbye.
When Drew calls you ugly outside the locker rooms, remember
the motherless girl in the movie who punched a boy directly in the face.
Time will slow as you march toward him with rigid arms that end
in clenched fists. You’ll want to do it, but Coach will show up and
detour you through the swinging door, red cheeked and shaking,
to shove your Soffe shorts in a drawstring Gap bag and grit your teeth
through the rest of your day.
Communicate with your dad’s new girlfriends through eyerolls.
Write poems about Weeping Willows and convince yourself that
every ailment or illness is death. Ditch the honor roll and
make friends with delinquents. Smoke with them in the girls room
and slip lipsticks into your sleeve at the mall.
But most importantly, when your eyes heat up and start to pool,
press the tip of your tongue into your canines. Focus on a point
so hard your vision blurs. Dig your nails into your palms,
pinch the skin on your forearm. Recite the Pledge of Allegiance
in your head. Suck your cheeks between your molars and bite down.
Mary Robbins
Mary Robbins is an emerging poet based in Raleigh, North Carolina. Her poetry has been published in South Carolina Review, Deep South Magazine, Heimat Review, Plorkology and Turning Leaf Journal.