Girl Chess

Its premise is, of course, to defeat.
Its tactics are vengeance, and humiliations, small and large.
It is patient.
It is charged by and with pain.
It takes what is small and good, and big and good, and
It tears it apart, like picking at bread.
It pushes chests down with the deep pressure of sadness.
It makes wide eyes in a baffled face cry.
It is toxic and pervasive.
It is historical and contemporary.
It is deeply unfair and sadly indelible.
It changes everything too soon.
Its queens are, in the end, the mothers.
Its girls are contorted, but complicit pawns
As they conquer their sisters.

Convergence

Middle age, adolescence, old age; in that order. Life juice and joy dessicated by disinterest, self-interest, and excessive concern. Tough time. Janet spat. She pulled her gloves on, one worn brown leather finger at a time, tugged the palms, and flexed her hands. She leaned back her head and rolled her neck from side to side, circle left, circle right. Little cracking pops, inaudible outside her head, reminded her to stand up straighter, pilates-pull her shoulders down, and finally, to smile.