She left her father’s list of interesting to have
when she was not one to be tamed or boy-made.

At first, perhaps he liked the baby girl -
a teacup with a curved, china handle.
He could hold her and think he owned her,
feeding her like a bird, dropping worms into her mouth.
She was his, in his bachelor nest.

She left her father’s list of interesting things to see
when she broke out in breasts – two plump additions
he didn’t have himself. He stopped bathing her, said
Cover up your humps and your bumps – you are infected
with woman.

She left her father’s list of interesting places to go
when he forego their trip to the zoo in favor of going
over to Debbie’s house. Suddenly alone,
she walked into the kitchen to a frozen pizza and a note:
Heat to 450 degrees. I have no milk left.

She left her father’s list of interesting people to love
when she came home smelling of boy. Her hair styled
and tousled by fluent boy hands, her lips
parted by polished boy lips.
She could have been made by boy.
Father told her she was made by man and reached
down her throat and pulled woman out of her
and slapped it down like a wet seal
until boys were a memory and all she knew was her maker,
all she could say was Da-Da.

He cut her short. He kept her still. Checked her off
on his list of conquered things.

11/25/2004

Posted on 11/25/2004
Copyright © 2026 Lisa Marie Brodsky