Tuesday, January 24, 2017

I sang tenor in the school choir
because the boys’ balls hadn’t

dropped, or their balls had but not
their voices. On the highest riser,

I wore an early draft of my breasts
and sang a row of notes

no other girl could reach down
and touch. I wondered how

the sopranos’ throats could pinch
round whole notes so thin,

they were near breaking
but didn’t break. It came down

to range, to the body suddenly
amplified. Parts of me cracked

and wavered, but not my voice.
I sang in the back of the choir

like a boy among boys.
I could go that low.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017