Someday you’ll wear your glasses in the bath
so you can read the instructions for products
that promise to keep you from looking like your mother.
That second glass of red wine will give you heartburn that keeps you awake
while you lie in bed next to the man you’re too tired to love,
each of you with separate blankets of different warmth or weight.
God forbid bathing becomes self care
but it might.
Someday you’ll notice men look past you
and through you on the street
and you’ll be disappointed and freed at the same time.
But for now, my Medusa:
Roll the top of that skirt to show off your gams.
Hold your power like the reins of a great chariot.
Tie bows and revel in the feminine
for even Diana the Huntress is glamorous with her quiver.
Run through the night in packs like wolves.
Be formidable and divine.
So that when you sink into that bath, glasses fogging,
you are gentle with her,
with the tenderness and gratitude
of a soldier to his steed.