Tadgh Murphy

Remember: you are not a girl. 

Tell me about the wood floors in your childhood kitchen
And how you memorized the shapes of the grain 
As your mother poured milk into your oats at breakfast,
Your arms are too weak to hold the jug
And your mother is too weak to sleep at night –
But you don’t know that yet. What you know is 
You like to eat oatmeal, the wood on the floor is different 
from the wood on the chair, and the way your father holds the jug 
Is different from the way your mother does. 

Now tell me about the chemically floral perfume 
And the crusting liquid foundation
On your mother’s wedge sponges that littered
That closet you pretended was yours. You have options –
The button up shirts of your father and the
Green silk dress of your mother. We both know
Which one you picked. It’s dress-up,
It’s drag, it’s that little one act play where
You rest the ladder from your bunk bed across the bedroom floor
And walk across that century’s old suspension bridge in
Stilettos that don’t fit. A handsome young adventurer
Off to be someone’s knight in glittering gown.

And what about the attic of your cousin’s house,
Can you tell me about that? How it smelled 
Like something you’ve never smelled before –
Young boys growing up in a home. 
You learn about video games. 
You learn about picking a character to play. 
You learn that picking Peach is a performance and picking Link is……..
Well it’s something you don’t have the words to describe. 
So it’s Peach, so it’s you in a dress that doesn’t fit, so it’s you
Holding a jug of milk by the skin of your teeth. 

Now I want to know about the men. 
When did that change for you? 
Puberty – when suddenly a man could look at you
And there’d be no confusion about it:
You are a girl. So when that boy held your hand,
You were a girl. And when that boy 
Kissed your cheek, you were a girl. 
And when that man yelled out his car window:
Sexy Legs! I wanna give you the ride of your life
As you were walking into your school’s playground
You were a woman. 
This is when you learn no amount of wishing
I’m not like other girls
Will ever change the fact that 
You are every other girl. 

I’m sorry, that one was hard.
And I’m sorry again because this one is harder:

Tell me about the guinea pigs. 
The two you lived with but did not own. 
The ones who scattered poop across
Every inch of the wooden floorboards and stuck 
To the bottoms of your bare feet. The ones that screamed and 
Smelled of hay and the affection from two roommates
Who loved them. But we know this isn’t actually 
About the guinea pigs. It’s about the third roommate: The Wizard.
Whose hands held curses against your body, 
the book of counter spells,
And every fear that’s ever shivered down your spine. 
So this was all you had:
A mind forbidden from learning the protection rituals,
Two guinea pigs you did not own,
A milk jug you’ve learned to hold like your father,
And a weakness that crawls into bed with you.

…I know. 
Changing Best Friend to The Wizard did not make it easier. 
So let’s make it easy:

Tell me about your name. Tell me about your favorite bite. 
Tell me about how much softer the world feels 
when the sky turns blue, white, and pink at sunset. Tell me
you’re a man and I’ll believe you. Tell me to show you
my hands and I’ll never move them out of your sight. 
Tell me to kiss it better and it’s already done. 
And when we fight over who plays who,
I’ll concede and let you be Link.