wedding ring

you shoot a hole through the wall
& ask me to put my finger inside.
we are children & you are sitting
on the front step of your house
counting clementines in my eyes.
"one for me one for me one for me,"
you say. 
you promise me, "we'll move" by which
you mean, "i'll plunder you."
all the dresses i rolled to try
& find that promise. you on 
one knee in the middle of a desert.
you on one knee in the attic.
on the bed. sleeping until my heart
melts like butter. mayonnaise night.
i thought i could give away 
my eye lashes for you. i thought the hole
was a ring. a place to escape.
to be a child is to still believe
you can run away. become a woman.
some trans people talk about 
always being their gender but for me
all gender has always been something
i have to become. i became 
his angel food cake. his wife with 
a capital "w." the sound 
of a tea kettle. a spoonful of cream.
he drove barefoot. we parked 
at the creek. at mulberries. he told me
to lay still. turned me into a ring. 
he said, "you love this." i swallowed.
tried to smile. tried to find meaning 
in my soft little orbits.
still, today, i want to find him.
i want to shoot a hole in his favorite tree.
tell him, put your finger here.
stand in this spot until the crows come
& tell you that you are a woman.