My Future Daughter At Night

MY FUTURE DAUGHTER AT NIGHT

What will the night be like for you, Daughter
twenty years from now
when you’ll have to walk the streets late at night
to get to your car, catch your train, hail your cab?
What shoes will you wear?

Will you have carefully planned your night
in sneakers, or will you wear
six inch sexy heels at the bar
– your Kryptonite –
as you unexpectedly find yourself alone
walking the streets trying to get home
while being mistaken as that girl
lookin’ to get paid? 

Feel your forehead collide against the cold –

the tip

of your nose

the drop

of your cheeks.

Cold. Cold.

Feel your blood chug
through feet and calves and fingertips
as you speedwalk to the place
where you need to be. 

You look determined. 
A badass. 
A shrinking violet. 
A sl*t. 
Just like a woman. 
You are a woman.  
Afraid.
Vigilant. 
Jezebel.

Feel air expand inside your lungs

in each quick step
in the sly headcount of men

who (can) walk idly and alone.

You momentarily blend with those
walking in groups
leaving the bar
when Daughter
you walk alone. 

What will the night be like for you, Daughter
twenty years from now
when you’ll have to walk the streets late at night
to get to your car, catch your train, hail your cab?
What shoes will you wear?

Will you breathe a deep sigh of relief
when you arrive exactly at the place
where you need to be? 

You’re walking on air. 
On blisters. 
With purpose. 
Practically running. 

Will your precious cargo be pepper spray? A shank?
Will you premeditate your hair into a bun? 
Will you hum Avé Maria as you wedge your key tightly
between your index finger and middle finger? 
Will you release a bloodcurdling scream to rally the troops?

F$*%@CKING $*%@SSHOLE!

Daughter, I think about you tonight
twenty years from now
as I walk the streets late at night to catch my train.
Your embryonic poltergeist inhabits my sneakers –
cushioned soles offering comfort
as I stride quickly without a friend. 

My Queer Girl, Straight Girl, Trans Girl
My Intersex Baby Love, My Girl, My Daughter
I worry for you tonight.

I wish it were okay for a woman like yourself –
daredevil tutu-twirling fire-breathing breathtaking witch goddess
– to walk proudly alone, but I cannot promise you
that the world will love you back. 

I worry but know I shouldn’t
before you’ve even cracked your shell
through my tubes
to make yourself known.

Articles of Interest:

“The Problem That Has No Name: We still have no word to describe what happens to women living in a country that hates them” by Jessica Valenti

“All the Men Who Never Assaulted Me” by Maura Quint

“Relax, Ladies. Don’t Be So Uptight. You Know You Want It” by Anastasia Basil

“Join #Time4BlackTransWomen For a Moment of Remembrance” by Kenrya Rankin

“When Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women Hits Home” by Ruth Hopkins

“The Case of Jane Doe Ponytail” by Dan Barry and Jeffrey E. Singer