illa tertia optatio.
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.












