Homage to Amy
& all the other untouchable girls.

by Sarah Freehauf

I did not see them until middle school—
that time when our leg length cannot match our arm length,
that time when our torsos can bud up top with tiny pillows of girl.

I saw them then. Envied their orange polished nails—
adored their heavy black and flowered boots,
wanted to be in their tribe of tough—girl—boss—brawny—cuss—bluelipgloss.

Coveted their courage—grit—heart—nerve.
These girls, let’s call them all Amy, these girls
were all magic—debris—tinyshardsofice—poison—stars.

Some of these girls were under siege. From fathers with roving hands—mothers with no care—homes of mold—too many tiny white pills & papers—southside of the tracks—but motherfucking tough under siege.

And so what of these girls?

They were the women—girls—tiny warriors with hipbones leading the way—
following their waistlength nirvanahair wherever it took them.
Who ran with the wolves
who I wanted to run with—
who taught me it is okay to be tough,
it is okay to be angry,
it is okay to be girl.