Daughter

by Marilyn Flower

   

My mama’s favorite was her son who died,

the boy I was born to replace.

She lay in her bedroom and shrieked at God:

“God! God!  How could you take my son?”

Papa built a schul for his son who died

and prayed there every day.

He tucked my hair in a skull cap

so I could sit with him at schul

where the men intoned their morning prayer:

“Thank you, God, for not making me a woman.”

My father enrolled me in public school,

not the Jewish school like my boy cousins.

For the class picture the very first year,

teacher pinned up my hair with a bow.

I took that picture in my hands and smiled.

“I am a girl,” I said.

* * * * *

"Daughter" was first published in Down in the Dirt Magazine.