these are not the skinny jeans
folded on top of the closet shelf
i think i am somehow going to wear again
& they’re not the mom jeans
roomy enough at the hips
no. these are the genes
that supposedly make little girls
want to play dolls, or house.
i played dolls with my sister.
her charlies angel doll was marrying grizzly adams
for the 20th time when I said to her
out of nowhere–do you want to get married
her of course made me snicker
not me, i’m just gonna have
lots of boyfriends
i never craved babies like chocolate.
i never sighed with that force of yearning.
the mommy gene never fit
but the love, the love happened
the second i saw her flickering there
on the ultrasound
the reason for the missed period
& the ensuing chaos of choice
somersaulting on the screen
i may have never wanted children
theoretically, but her,
her dancing there, an inch under my navel
& innocent of location–
her i wanted
mommy genes were never tangled
in my DNA. the mom thing
was not born with me