two ponytails, tied together with black rubberbands,
wrapped in little black ribbons,
looped together and knotted tightly
so they do not unravel before the last bell rings.
small feet in shining black shoes,
neat pinafores ironed with heavy presses,
and tight collars held together
with the school-captain tie and badge.
small hands given willingly to protective palms
with miniature school bags hooked on sunburnt shoulders,
to cross the road on the black-and-white stripes
and get across to the other side
where the world lies.
cold steel railings at the airport
that separate those who left from the ones who stayed,
smiling eyes welcoming extra baggage, grown-up shoulder-length hair,
never tied together, showing off modern brown-coloured hues,
and fringes that fall with style to the left or the right.
old palms that grab baggage trolleys instead of fair nailpainted hands.
fathers welcome their daughters back in to their homes,
with sad i-told-you-so smiles,
and hurried whispers to responsible brothers
about what is going to happen now.