She is being dissolved,
the one who thinks
this life is hers, the one
who thinks she’s driving
the car on the icy road
or lifting her foot
to take the next step.
She doesn’t like it one lick,
this sense that she
is not in charge, this
suggestion that something
else is living her life.
Never mind that her plans
haven’t worked before.
This is her life and she’s
staying.
Her mother doesn’t like it,
either, this notion that her
daughter’s self is not unique,
not perfectly perfect, not hers.
Her mother rushes to her
defense and champions
the one whom she named.
But she is being dissolved
as one by one the things
she thought she knew
as sure as iron are bent
like grass. And she is being
dissolved as whatever
can be lost is lost.
She’s afraid to even write
those words in case
she’s inviting more loss.
When will this be over?
She is ready to rebuild the walls.
And she is being dissolved
even as she grasps
with her hands, her gut,
even as she pulls out her hammer,
even as the next line is written,
even as her lips are puckered
to form an imperfect circle,
ready to assert the word that she
knows best, no, no, no.
The “she is being dissolved” makes much more sense by the end of the poem, so I think it works well as a refrain that grows in significance. I like the ending, as usual, and especially that long last stanza. I’m not sure the mother stanza is really necessary here, for the girl grows and shrinks in the progress of the poem, but the mother’s view tends to anchor her as something precious, which she is not, at least by the poem’s voice.