Her first period came in the morning
and she felt her insides boil and rage.
Her mother found her next, scared and pink —
brightest red on the clean, white towel.
“What happens next,”, she whispered all soft
and quiet so nobody would know.
Mostly, the boy who could never know
that she had changed overnight, this morning
a woman with blood that dripped onto soft
skin and new panties, all the rage
and quick, her mother gave her a towel
to clean up. Then a maxi-pad in pink
plastic to tape inside her new pink
underwear. “It’s this or that you know”
she said, a tampon next to the towel
like a dagger, too spooky for morning —
threatening to return each month with rage
promising her she’d never again be soft.
Every month she wrapped herself in soft
blankets, a heating pad on her bright pink
skin doing its best but still a rage
filled her. How could nobody know
a better way than this? A sweet morning
of relief before she threw in the towel?
Then suddenly, as she sat on her bath towel
a small, beautiful thing made of squishy soft
rubber caught her attention from her morning
magazine. It jumped out from the rest of the pink
glossy pages. Did nobody know?
How could she have been so blind? Hot rage
filled her then. An ad — “Brand new, all the rage
modern, reusable like a towel!”
“Twelve hours of total comfort, you’ll know
it’s the one for you! Our product is soft
and comes in cool, clear purple or pink!
Never have another stressful morning!”
and now she knows that small rubber perfectly pink
thing is meant to quell her rage. The DivaCup! So soft
like the towel she sits on when she shoves it inside herself each morning.