If I ever have a son
I will tell him to be manly.
I will tell him I only raise men
who are manly.
But not in the way you think.
Not in the way our leaders
have used masculinity as a threat.
I will show him
the ways that men of the past
left a bitter wave in their wake;
how there are men that have made
ghosts out of the women I love.
I will show him how some men
bite their teeth into
all kinds of kindness
and call that power;
call that masculinity.
When he is here, I will say: “that is not what makes a man.”
I will tell him, “I did not carry you
in the womb of my ancestors
to have blood on your hands.”
No,
He will be manly.
He will cry in grief’s presence.
He will listen in the quiet morning.
He will know I love you should be said
often and meaningly.
He will see the beauty
of the goldfinches,
of a woman’s resilience,
of the lake’s algae,
of the bones that music grows.
I will raise a boy
that welcomes
the world
with an open ear;
an open heart.
Maybe he will wear suits to work,
or perhaps he will dawn the silk of a dress.
Maybe his hair will be shaved off each Winter
or he will grow it past his shoulders.
Maybe we will paint our nails together,
red goes best with fall, I will tell him then.
And maybe he will enjoy
the kiss lipstick gives
or that of a man or two.
Either way,
he will wear manliness
the way it should be held.
He will not use his privilege
like a weapon.
He will know that
grace and tenderness
are more powerful
than any fist could be.
He will be whoever he wants to
and by doing so,
he will show the world
what a real, manly man looks like.