some mornings

a trip-wire and a truth fire

we girls/women bear the weight

of the seed-planters,

horn-honkers,

the hey-baby-would-it-kill-you-to-smile

alleyway crotch-grabbers

movie theater perverts

teachers who change that B to an A if you

men who tell you are too thin, too fat,

move your hair out of your face with their fingertips

at fourteen your hips deeply disappoint the teacher

who gave you your first kiss in middle school.

from one friend

the man who leaned out of his car to tell her that her ass was too big for her bicycle

from another

the uncle she knew at four to run from

don’t call me sweetie, post office guy,

or young lady, car wash guy,

‘cause it’s annoying as fuck

I am old, but strong.

some mornings I rattle these chains to wake the dead,

howling for a hellpit deep enough

It is surprising, even to me, when a small moment unspools a secret history, but anger can be helpful. Healing even, like a primal scream. This felt good to write.