She

panty hose runs

shining slick with nail polish lacquer 

hold together the teller, the teacher, the secretary, the nurse

the woman

the expectations placed 

in little girls' hair

tightened like a corset 

round their fragile bird bones

 

because fragile she is.

strong she's taught not.

 

two breasts, two eyes

to coat in thick clumps 

of black mascara,

as two red lips bite back

words, thoughts, smarts, 

she was told she didn't have.

math is a numbers game she just wouldn't get

nimble fingers made for working

silently.

 

her opinions are less

because of the curve of her hips

hips, which, 

when life rests between

invites the possibility of a day

when she will not weep 

when the baby born 

is delivered in pink.

 

shrill newborn wails silenced

for lack 

of a protruding appendage

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