We’re doing our daughter a dishonour, sending her to school when she’s been dreamy as the moon for months, waiting for her time, needing sleep, languid oil-slicked baths, lying long hours in the grass, twirling her hair between slow   fingers, cherishing secrets, as the first egg rolls inside her, ripens in its thick blanket of bood, waits hopelessly for the love she’s too young for, then falls from her today, us pretending it’s a day like any other. Choosing to ignore      her tears and aches, we equip her with pills, invisible pads  and tiny tampons when we should…