"What is your gender?"

Today it is aegean,

A raging sea under a storm--

Choppy and abrasive.

I slide into my binder

And throw on my basketball shorts,

And I walk with the authority

Of someone who belongs.

Tomorrow it may be blush,

The rustle of a taffeta skirt

Gently brushing the floor

I’d wear a floral dress

And my high heeled boots

That click clack across the tile.

Or perhaps it will be plum,

Rich and ripe and succulent:

I’ll shade my eyes with it

And apply a false beard,

Not caring that I am “mismatched.”

It could be jet,

The combination of all pigments--

Just like the sweatshirt

And sneakers I’d don.

The way children ask

“Is that a boy or a girl?”

Makes me smile.

Better yet, alabaster,

Reflecting all light

And absorbing none;

I’d put on a striped sweater

And my favorite baggy jeans.

I breathe easier when others

Call me “they.”

It is any of these

And all of them,

Morphing each day ,

Determining my attire,

My posture,

My actions.

I couldn’t love it more.