When the women in my family die,
jewels appear.
Broaches and diadems in cream-pink boxes
lined with velvet the strawberry red
of a motorcycle—
prized by some distant uncle—
gleaming like the broaches.
When the women in my family die,
boxes appear.
It happens and I am seven,
I get gum in my hair.
The gum rings pink, like the boxes.
My parents are always cutting gum
out of my hair.
With my sister,
I play princess. From head to head
we pass a diadem. It crumbles with use,
whitesilver rhinestones
fall behind us like contrails. We play
mermaids, another game that’s better
if you have long hair. When the women
in my family die, braids appear,
long and silverwhite as rhinestone contrails,
stretched across hard, bare shoulders.
This happens
and I am ten. I hoard scraps of diadem,
I drag a stuffed tiger behind me
on a leash. I want hard
for it to come alive, be mine.
I am ten. Everything I wish for
burns incandescent
and almost real inside me.
Little girls know much about want. We have
a ferocity of it.
See? The women in our families die
and seal up in boxes
their elegant braids. Diadems
crumble. Never mind the fairness
with which we share the rule.
We get gum in our hair.
We want.
We want.

Molly Bess Rector lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas where she co-curates the Open Mouth Reading Series. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Ninth Letter, The Rupture, and others.