Gender Reveal Ceremony
Scatter your rosebuds over a good,
stout toad. No harm will come to the toad
in this ceremony, but also no kisses.
The toad will not transform
into a tuxedoed beauty. I will
and won’t change during this ceremony.
Add a teaspoon of sugar
& a teaspoon of dirt to help
the truth go down: I was raised to want
to be the princess. I admire her
dresses but hate wearing anything
so tight around the waist.
A broken hourglass, the sand strewn
across a coffee table—that’s me.
A new pair of overalls, leopard print slippers,
my long hair airdried, no makeup
covering my years—that’s me
too. I spent years trying to be
the pink spray of glitter bursting
from inside the popped balloon,
but I’ve always been a turquoise
lurker. I’d rather bake a rustic apple crisp
than dainty macrons. Here’s the truth:
I have no cauldron. I can’t tell a toad
from a frog. I am stirring my selves together.