She Will Learn
My niece runs like her body’s still her own.
She will learn better.
I hope she learns better.
We learned
when someone stuck a tongue down our throat
and called us a slut.
We learned
our skirts were too short
and our desires too big.
We learned
how to play hide and seek in our minds.
We learned
to thread our keys between our knuckles
and sign up for self-defense classes.
We learned
how lucky we were to grow up when we did
and not in our mother’s generation.
We learned
when to be afraid.
I am afraid
she will learn
just like we did.
Mean Girl
(or, On Reading a Facebook Post About a Beautiful, Perfect Daughter)
I find it hard to believe
she is as sweet as you profess
in pearls no less.
Do you not remember fear
and all that you did to clear
a path of destruction,
pure destruction?
How is it that your memories
allow such absolution?
I’m sorry if I cannot believe
your beautiful girl allows reprieve.
I suspect she’s just as mean as you
and will carry on the family truth,
the reality of pain.
Stop thinking she is framed.
Please confess she’s just like you:
a mean girl through and through.
For Tahlequah, 2018 and 2024
Seventeen days she carried her young despite its death.
The world watched and wondered.
I did not.
I carry my babies with me every day,
their weight invisible but there.
I long for that public mourning,
that acknowledgment of loss.
Instead I wear waterproof mascara
and carry on
but without the pageant, the careful watching
and the honesty.
After/Thought Literary 