My mom on that stage rehearsing
to Madonna’s Material Girl—
she wears champagne pink tights,
her legs ethereal and the light hits
her chest so gold dust surrounds
her face. A mirror unfolds behind her,
making it hard to choose which side
of her to admire. Three women follow
her 8-counts while I eat chicken nuggets.
They move in unison. One trips, laughs—
they start again, hips gliding back and forth,
knees bruised from the moves on all fours.
In the back I snoop through drawers
of sequined lingerie, tubes of glitter
lipstick. Mom catches me, lets me pick
a scrunchy, lets me try the lightest shade.
from Sugar WorkFind more by Katie Marya at the library
Copyright © 2022 Katie Marya
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.