Poem: The Sugar Fairy

I still remember when she’d come
all dressed in black—down to her thumb
come, just to wait on Mum.
Hiding behind closed doors— towels outstretched over the floors,
laughing and crying, it’s Women’s Day.
Sometimes I would peak in to see,
what they were doing without me
or even just—to bring them tea.

Where is the hair? What is this sticky substance you possess?
“It’s made of sugar, my Princess”
Can I try, please?
A ball of honey melts my tongue.
I laugh. Rewarded—but stung.
I meant like Mum.
But they just stare: “there is no hair.”

Older I grew, and it did spread
From crown to toes, sometimes even
…on my nose.
The hair, it was just– everywhere.
My whole body, it rose.

So, I went back, brave, like Mum.
Held out my arm. Imagined, they would rescue me…
“Nope, not today.”

One day we’ll show you what it’s for–
You will be brave. Men will adore.
But now you’re young.
Too young to handle it, the pain.
We will refrain.

Finally, a wedding came. I longed ‘to be free.
Free of the layer of …agony.
But “no”, “too soon”, “we’ll turn it blonde” “no one will see”.
Out came the bleach. (The stench, still remains with me).

And so, I had to know
…why do we care—who sees?
 Was clear I’d caught them by surprise. They’d never questioned… the lies?
And so, they mumbled, “Cleanliness” Or. “Godliness”.

Still it continued to grow, like a spare sheet.
In places that— I couldn’t reach.
Until one day: A boy…PE
“Why does your arm…look just like mine?A boy’s?”
I tried to hide behind the noise–
but he knew, I knew— I’d heard him.
So sad, I went home that day
and told my Mum: I won’t be swimming anymore.

And so, at last
and finally,
the Sugar Fairy came to me
…and it was finally my turn.

And after all the years and sighs.
I realized why, Mum’d put her off.
And that they’d  lied when they said:
“Cleanliness is close to Godliness.”

(I tried hard not to swear)
I do not see
What God would want this agony?
“It’s gone. The hair.”
The Fairy stretched goo down my thighs.

This must be man.
He does not see the beauty that is all of me. 

A sigh.
No lies.
Just silence.
Dejectedly, I looked at both women.
We cannot win. 
So, we continue—prod and tear.
Making sure to get each hair.
In hopes one day he’ll stop and stare:
“I liked it more…before she came. It doesn’t bother me.
Send her away—the Sugar Queen.
Instead, let’s go to bed and dream
of sugar cane.”
—