Day Five

It is possible there are some things in tonight’s poem that won’t ring true to you; after all, girls have been allowed to wear pants to school for a long time. It is important to remember that I started school nearly a decade before Women’s Lib won their first battles. I wasn’t allowed to wear slacks until junior high, when we were allowed to wear pantsuits; coordinates were not acceptable, and definitely not jeans. When I was in high school, the old guard gave up, and girls were finally allowed to wear jeans and whatever sort of t-shirt or other sort of blouse they liked, provided it was modest, and didn’t say “Where the hell is Edmond?” on it - that one got a girl sent home.

RAGE

 Rage
Is what I felt the first time
A male hand touched me
Where it shouldn’t have been.
I was six.

Rage
Is what I felt when my brothers
Got to sit and read while their sisters
Cooked their dinner
And did the dishes.

Rage
Is what I felt in my skirt
As we braved the snow
Higher than I was tall
While the boys were allowed
To stay warm in pants.

Rage
Is what I felt when a male voice
Talked over mine
Telling in his ignorance what he was sure
He knew better than me.
I was an expert.

Rage
Is what I felt when the teacher
Refused to call on me
Or any of the other females
Because he was sure that girls
Can’t do math.

Rage
Is what I felt when the school
Agreed with my mother that I needed
To take Home Ec instead of chemistry
Because I needed to be correctly trained
For when I got married.

Rage
Is what I felt when I realized
Men were staring at me with lust,
Watching my breasts,
And never hearing what I said
Because they were distracted.

Rage
Is what I felt when men shoved me
Pushed me around,
Knocked me down,
Kissed me without permission
Because they could.

Rage
Is what I felt the day I was told
Good girls don’t get angry.
I was a good girl. I hid my anger.
It turned around on me and
Became depression.