the first time I wore pink
two foolish boys
slid over the falls
over their heads yelling I can’t swim
I can’t swim and of course
more annoyed than heroic
I wound up pulling them to the side
You drove me to the thrift store
dry clothes, cashier rang up tags for baggy underwear,
boy-plaid shorts
and the best thing warm in my size
this disgustingly cute pink cardigan with tiny white buttons
pink?
It was first time I wore pink since
I was tortured away from the thought
of anything girly by the scratch of Sunday tights and the pinch of stiff
Mary Janes. After church the boys in the basement told me
I’d have to take off panties
someday if I was going to push out a baby
and why not start taking them off
today?
leading to thirty years believing
girl means weakness, submission
girl means eye-fluttering ignorance
tall tower heroes and railroad rescue
girl means constriction, tight elastic
discomfort
towel dried you tell me
“Hey, you look pretty
in pink.” Like Molly?
“Yeah like Molly.”
what took so long to
discover the secret power
of pink
hidden and soft
that pulls mystery of men
into folds of not what they have
but what they are missing
like these breasts that still ache
in a burning thread
and humm with the urgency of that false cry letdown
pull with heaviness that longs to be relieved,
emptied, pink nipples pleading
need me
