Not Princess

For Ivy

Ivy, at four, is angry.

There is a new coloring book

at my house for her, which she hurls

through the living room,

denouncing it because , “This is not princess!”

For Ivy, “princess” is an adjective,

and she won’t color

in anything not princess, the way

I won’t drink out of a dirty glass.

It seems logical to her, and I’m afraid,

to me as well.

She is beautiful, the way truth is beautiful –

shiny, transparent, and clean.

She does not expect a fairy tale.

She is simply unwilling to live in a world

that is not hers.

She is a window into herself.

An unedited view.

If you look inside Ivy,

you will not see unfulfilled wants and needs

wrecking havoc in her little soul,

and spewing forth as demands.

You will see a clear pool of clean water,

at the bottom of which

is written boldly,

“I am this.”        

She will unlearn this. She has to.

Otherwise she will waste

precious time driving on the wrong side of the road,

and doing everything opposite

of what she imagines we hope for.

“Ivy, that’s not nice. It’s a present.

Say thank you for the coloring book,” her parents beg.

She says, “Thank you,” through gritted teeth,

loathing the terrible thing.

I know she has to learn to navigate

the treacherous waters of

manners and life.                                                                        

I want her to grow up happy, and live

peacefully in this world.

Still, it is all I can do

not to grab her up in my lap,

press my lips to her ear,

and whisper while no one is looking,

“Don’t do it, Ivy.

Don’t give in.

Never settle for anything

that isn’t absolutely,

100% princess.”