When I’m Asked Why I Do Not Want a Son
I tell them girls are easier.
Say I’ll know how to raise a daughter,
don’t admit that I fear a son
will always remain a stranger.
I don’t tell them I fear of raising a weapon
of a man. I’m not sure I’ll never love a son right.
I know what he can do, what he can turn out to be
if I am not the most perfect mother.
I don’t tell them I can’t imagine my body
housing one. I’m sure I’ll keep
bleeding boys before
I discover what I’m growing.
Rachel Roupp is a poet from the mountains of Mansfield, Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in Crab Fat Magazine, Chantwood Magazine, Persephone’s Daughters, and Rag Queen Periodical, where she serves as the Social Media Coordinator. She just wants Dolly Parton to be proud of her.