Forget the chocolate and put away the dark red envelopes.
You are a woman, damn it! You are a Texan. You
do not go barefoot. You have never been
pregnant unless it was a pregnancy
you did not know about, and knowing the biochemical
trickery that you do, that is entirely possible.
You are not half of a person, you do not need someone
to pay for your sushi, you might
need someone to pay for your textbooks,
that is a different story, and you wouldn’t
mind someone to pay for your sensible bras (36C)
and jeans (8 regular), but that is several
other issues, the least of which you are not really
an 8 anymore but a solid 10,
depending on the time of the month.
To think you secretly wanted the bra
with the pink and yellow polka dots instead of
the white one you eventually ended up buying. For shame.
Do not forget: test on Thursday, ice cream social
Friday night. Do not forget: you are loved even though
you do not want to be. It’s just not the kind of love
you were expecting and it comes from different places,
from the mud caked on the bottom of your shoes,
from the good night texts from your friends,
from the way the lead actor looks at you as he
steps down from the stage that you built.
You are woven into this coat of many colors,
yes, you, yes, even with the biliverdin pooled
under your skin.
Green: the color of healing. Red: the color of night.