What My Father Taught me and What My Mother Gave Me

Chalked to glide between my black, acrylic,

my father armored me with a pool-que

when I was ten, taught me to splatter plastic

and resin across slate like a black widow

exploding during labor.

I never had to shop

for beautiful, brown eyes,

wavy, auburn strands of pale complexion.

I never had to worry about another woman

wearing my mother.