Rite of Passage

Moonlight lends
Silver sheen, she
Backs into the
Silver screen of
Actors at a
Crowded bar, she
Doesn’t care much
Who they are, she
Sneaks away to
Sharpied bathroom
Oh so very little
Leg room, but the
Light is nice and
Break is right
From hustle bustle
Of the night since
Longest day, she
Spent the hours
Playing ’round with
Newfound powers and the
Gift of foresight
Really more like
Curse of more sight
And now, in this dim light
In this oh so tiny
Barroom vanity she can
See the sparkle through
The marker, she can
Make it out as she
Begins to pout and
Raises up her
Anxious hand, she
Parts the locks up
Atop her mop and
Sees the sign of
Nearing time, of
The Divine, it’s
Surefire now, it
Transpires now, it’s
A blessed curse, it’s
A message, first
That she has seen
In mirror, preen now
She fingertips the
Tiny root and tugs it
Gently from the chute and
Holds it to the
Telling light and
Steps back out
Into the night,
‘Neath the Moon
To offer prayer
To God-
for this
Silver hair.