Sometimes I’m a woman
Sometimes yes.
Sometimes I am.
Like in the mornings when I first wake
But not when I’m walking down a hallway or when I slip on black boots.
I don’t always feel like a woman.
Only sometimes I do
When I place my hand in my lover’s hand and kiss their cheek
But not when I kiss their hand.
Sometimes I do when it’s a sunny day and the birds are calling for me to look at their fun from the window
But not when the brown cat stares at me
While I sit in my car alone, in silence
As if he knows something that I don’t.
Sometimes I’m a woman
When I’m crossing my t’s and dotting my i’s
But not when I put a period after I’m done
With my sentences.
Sometimes I am a woman when the temperature is just right and I’m wearing my best pants
But I’m not a woman when the air is crisp or at 11:00 pm
Sometimes I’m a woman because I am a woman.
But other times, most of the times
I am not.
Or am I?
Sometimes I am truthfully, precisely, sincerely, candidly, and openly— a woman
But sometimes I am honorably, clearly, downright, unmistakably not.
I’m not a woman when I’m driving
And I’m not a woman when I’m reading
I’m not a woman when I’m looking at art or
When I’m sleeping
But I am one when I wake.