A Poem for your Thursday


You Always Say

You used to be tough,
a man’s man,
the alpha male. Until you had me
and turned into a pile of mush,
of pink lace and protection,
Barbie doll dream houses and bows in gold hair.

You never had a sister who survived infancy,
no one to dress up and tease
and threaten with an imaginary shot gun.
No pig tails to pull
or words to misunderstand
because she is another species entirely.

I have two brothers
whom you love much.
But not like me–
your sweetest accomplishment.
Opposite from you in so many ways,
like your wife,
my mother with the same heart eyes
and steady voice,
whom you love much.

But not like me–
Your only daughter.
I know fathers aren’t supposed to have favorites,
but if they did, you always say
I would be yours.