Most of the World's Water Is Locked Into Ice Barbara Daniels We pluck our eyebrows and dye our hair. Sadness rides on our ribs all day. We listen to music in the pinch of night. Our husbands cheat and don't care. Fear drives a needle through each thin hand. We spend our money on gold jewelry, take roses from the wrong men, wear gowns that drag on carpets, catch their hems in our platform shoes. We'd rather die than be dumpy, stout, so old we'll forget the words of the song that keeps us dancing till everything hurts: bright marriage ring, blistered hand, feet sore from the clunky shoes. Our fingers touch our faces, then loosen our hair. Rich black, bright red, glowing yellow, brown thick as a mare's pride blown back in man-made wind.

---