Patriarchal

He used to come up behind me, tell me

I’d make some man a fine wife.

Didn’t know

the kind of man I wanted,

if I wanted a man at all.

He knew

I washed the dishes clean,

ironed his work clothes neat.

Said if I could

watch my mouth, quit cutting

my teenage eyes in angst,

I might be fit to claim.

Didn’t know

when I got old enough, Maw-Maw

had to talk me out of changing my last name:

not to another man’s, but from his.