the color of woman

i pray that you are a boy.

scruffy knees, high top shoes,

never a day of

"why don't you like pink?"

"why don't you wear dresses?"

"why don't you speak quieter...

...like a good girl should."

and i wonder if my prayers are like poison

or if my fears are coating you like warpaint

preparing for the battle we have fought before you.

yes time has passed since my mother coated me

yet the color of woman still streaks my face.

and do not ever question the world sees it.

perhaps wishful thinking would bring you bliss

and a naive heart shut would save your innocence

but when i produce the greatest miracle of our earth

they will still cover your beautiful being with a pink cap--

even one minute old you will know your place.

and i imagine when we bring you home

and that first night begins

with a soft wail, then a loud one

and your father tries to shush you

i will press my finger to his lips and tell him

no man will tell our daughter not to speak

whether for milk or justice

against wet diapers or atrocities

seeking comfort or equal rights

instead i will hold you in the cradle of my arm

and sing softly,

"we shall overcome. we shall overcome...

...we shall overcome some day."