Clementine Williams

“I Felt Gender In My Grandma’s Clothes”

Another night at grandma’s,
collard greens boilin’,
scrubbin’ our mahogany
skin until it turns into
tomato paste.
We was ‘spose
to be back in before
the streetlights cut on,
swore we lost track of
time but she cussed us
out anyway.
Damnits’s and shit’s
thrown around,
tales of the boogeyman
snatchin’ up kids while
she fishes through
our spindanight bags.
Ma forgot to pack
our PJ’s, nothing
but drawers and
socks.
Musta thought we
had some here
but it didn’t matter.
She was already
diggin’ through
her closet,
passing over the
nursing scrubs
and coats from the 80s
before she settled on what
she always did.
XXL faded family reunion
t-shirt for the middle child,
a small stained tee that
had the baby
hoverin’ like a ghost
and for me,
a wife beater
with the added
touch of girlhood
stored inside a pair
of pink pants.
We all looked
silly, me the most
with the wife beater
slippin’ off my shoulders
and hips too small
to hold up my end
of the bargain.
I take my nightly
piss like a good kid
does when they don’t
want to wet the bed.
Almost forgot to
wash my hands,
steady looking in
the mirror at
the little girlboy
with nothing but
nipple and bud
to show through
the type of tank top
your uncle wears when
swatting flies on
hot summer days
and a euphemism
for what I’d later find
is a vagina.
Cause that’s all we are
ain’t we?
Body parts through
clothes until we
decide what that
means.
And for now,
all I am is a
body in my
grandma’s clothes.