AshleyElizabeth

AshleyElizabeth

I was never one of 'The Ashleys',
painting lips pink,
squealing "scandelous"
dwelling in an underground clubhouse.
Mother must have known
what I wouldn't be.

"Code X," the boys taunted
good for one thing:
securing tire swings with my contagion.
"Thompson," "Mormon," spat
like explatives along with
chewed food.
The hard ground came faster with thick glasses on.
Mother never knew
until Brandi Werner.
That Tiara didnt see the ground coming.
The fist of a whimpy kid?
The fist of Elizzzabeth
buzzing like a bee, a roar
a red head,
like my Grandmother,
and Queens, and Saints.

Brass, crass, crash little kid
growing into class, Elizabethan.
Slow and painful, as nine long letters
stretched and skewed
over twenty childish nicknames
until she fit me
like a glove: Elisheba, Consecrated
Oath to God.
I am all that mother knew
as she pronounced the  Ashley silent.