once, my stride was quick and sure.
i walked straight,
toe to heal, toe to heal,
like this boy in a book
and that felt right.
but come sunday,
they put me in patent leather shoes
with tiny, little training heels
and white hose always slipping off
my thin, little learning hips—
and mommy will be mad
if i rip around set of stockings,
if i scuff these shiny shoes.
i wonder how mad she would have been
walking in on you and me
under the covers
with your hands on me.
i wore the dress you picked.
i wish i had kept walking like a boy.