Dogs are boys and cats are girls.
No one was looking. I dipped my baby carrots in sugar.
I swam in my pool wearing only underwear.
Girls are not supposed to be shirtless.
I told the girls at pre-school about my older sister and brother.
I don’t have a sister.
At recess time, the swings are my favorite.
My biggest fear is falling.
I found out a way to touch that feels good.
This makes grown ups angry.
Women are really pretty
in my mom’s magazine.
I only dream in the color red.
Circles are girls and squares are boys.
I don’t like to share my crayons because
I love to touch the pointy tips.
The kids color so hard my crayolas return as stubs
Riley said I am too bossy and called me a hippocrip.
I cried and cried.
I had a crush on Riley.
At recess, I like to make rolly polly families.
All of them are only childs too.
I hate to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce —
My knees touch Riley’s.
I like Carl’s Jr. kid’s meals the best.
They ran out of the girl toy and gave me the boys’
I ask for boys’ toys from now on.
There are circles on Barbie’s chest.
I drew them and it made the grown ups mad.
The grown ups were sad and asked me
if anyone touched me someplace.
I told them about Riley’s knees.
Watching My Mother
after reading “Fury” by Lucille Clifton
She stands beside
the Ford Thunderbird
The suitcase overflows
like a Thanksgiving turkey
Her hair is crying
Her hands collect her clothes
from the driveway
The yellow jumper collapses
into a million threads of saffron
She keeps dropping them
They wither and dissolve
Petal by petal
Her hands are rivers
Her black eyes, mascara bats
flittering at the sight of me
I am 5 years old and perfect