I am a woman only under certain conditions. When
needing a hand moving furniture. On ladies
night at the poorly lit bar when the bouncer touches
my lower back. He says “Right this way,
ma’am” & I swallow a cringe along with the complimentary
whiskey & coke. When tits protrude through my mostly-
stretched binder. When a man decides to grab my friend
& I step in & say “back the fuck up”, the laugh he bellies
reminds me I was a woman then. When the bass
in my voice is reduced to a voice crack, a chest,
some child-bearing hips. When Beyonce says “ladies”
in “Me, Myself & I.” The last sip before we leave tells me maybe
I can deal with being every kind of woman. Who am I kidding;
I’ve only ever been a question. Laugh? Womb? Wound? Sure.
I am mistaken for a woman under certain conditions.