It took more
than peculiar conditions
of vaginal alkalinity
to create Clytemnestra.
Helen was more
than hormones
delicately balanced
in patterns pleasing to Paris.
Seminal whim
and vagaries of biology
created you and me;
amino acids make
the pathways of my brain
run differently.
I do not mean
to make more
of these things
than they are.
There is more
to my reason
(and yours)
than chemistry.
Face to face,
prisoners of sexuality,
our genders
engender differences.
I see how heavily
your masculinity
weighs on you.
I, too, would be
self-conscious
if I had to go
through life
holding my phallus
in my hand.
Achilles
with long hair
and painted lips
aspired to be
a woman
but in the end
picked up his sword
and practiced
the glorious work of men,
creating death.
While pushing
my gender uphill,
it does not lighten
my burden
to have you run beside me
telling me
you know better than I
the weight of patriarchy.
I cannot help you
in your quest
to be the other
and you can never speak
for me.
First Published in the Maine Review 1993
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