All of our parents are on some level
scared of us, and a power that
we have and they do not.
Bisexual; the word itself is vaguely menacing:
girls with angry eyes touching tongues
and kissing deeply
enough to fall into wells.
They are afraid of losing
their children, of losing them somewhere
they cannot follow. The
children may take lovers, then.
Not boys - commiseratable, damnable.
Ohno. Because it's so easy to hate men,
then, unalterably, in adultery.
No. Oh. The daughters, bisexual, angry, vengeful
may take girl-lovers, woman-lovers,
with silky breasts, clean pubic hair,
a smell like dough or ink or wildflowers.
And it's impossible that
mothers,
our mothers,
the queens of pathos,
straight, who may as well be wearing
corsets for the degree of perfection they demand
and the repression they adhere to, religiously,
could understand the sweetness.

But:
make no mistake about it, we are dangerous.
soft small hands, but our eyes, our eyes,
if you looked us in the face a bit more often
you'd be able to see how much
we hate the
offhand com-
ments you
make, un-
thinking.

You'd be able to see how much we sometimes hate you
for the way you don't realise that your own children
are not your children; they are children but not yours.
We are your daughters. And we are not, because you cannot
be us. And we cannot be you.

Do you enjoy this willful blindness? Why should
we wish to be so blind?