if i had stayed a woman

if i had stayed a woman, i would’ve met you in college.
we would’ve gone to the movies on our first date—
or maybe a sitdown italian restaurant, or a museum.
we would’ve held hands, and i’d politely ask you
about your hobbies, and your career, and your life.
you would’ve kissed me, chastely, on the third date,
and i would’ve kissed you back, just as courteous
wondering when the butterflies were going to come.

if i had stayed a woman, you would’ve asked the question
over an expensive steak dinner, with candles and roses.
i would’ve said yes, because that’s my part in this performance.
i would’ve worn pearls and a lace white dress and wondered
if the happiest day of my life was supposed to feel like a goodbye.
church bells tolling like an omen, i’d walk down that aisle,
people watching perfect puppets play their perfect parts.

if i had stayed a woman, my womb would bear fruit—
nine months of slow incubation, of my stomach swelling
then blood curdling screams and groans of pure agony.
you would’ve watched, and maybe held my hand,
or maybe waited outside in the lobby until,
one last push, and our little joy would be born.
i’d hope for a boy, free from the curses i bear,
but she’d be a girl, and i’d wonder to myself
why she seemed happier than i ever was.

if i had stayed a woman, i’d be too busy drowning
in my duties as a wife and mother to wonder—
what if i had buried myself all those years ago?
freed myself from the shackles of womanhood?
or, even better, what if i had just been born a man?