By Joanna Brooks
Mom, you should know
I’m now one of those,
a feminist.
Still recognizable,
though. I swear
I haven’t butched
my hair, won’t bring
some guitar-strumming
womyn home:
I still love men
too much, I know.
You told me those
feminists are hurt
along the way—
bruised bad fruit
left broke as is.
That’s me, I find—
straight from your body
slightly out of my mind
like you.
