No

They teach you that "No"
Is a powerful word,
An empowering word
That builds boundaries
And sets limits for
Self respect

I remember trying it out
A time or two,
Before they started giving
Seminars and workshops
About that.

Can't say that "No"
Ever brought much success, though

Like that time with the
Portrait artist and the
Baby-blue baby-doll dress,
The one where
My breeches hung out,
Which would have been fine
Had I still been a baby.
And it wasn't so much
The portrait or the artist,
As the horror
Of having my breeches
Hanging out
All day, surrounded by peers
Who knew that someone my age
Should not have her breaches
Hanging out

I tried the night before
To say "No" and reason
With my mother.
As that didn't work,
I thought the
Written word stronger,
More permanent,
And set to writing
"No" on the baby-blue
With the ink of a
Purple paper ribbon
Made wet from the faucet

But given the poor
Lighting of midnight
And temperamental ink from
The purple paper ribbon,
The word did not quite
Appear as I had
Hoped by morning.
But the message was
Clear. And the
Reply even clearer,
As my breeches soon had
Other problems
Than simply being exposed.

In the end,
I wore
The baby-blue baby-doll dress
With my breeches
Hanging out
All day, surrounded by peers
Who knew that someone my age
Should not have her breeches
Hanging out.

But there was at least one
Small concession
Thanks to the written word--
The portrait artist
Never saw me in that
Baby-blue baby-doll dress.
Nevertheless,
She captured me
In muted pastels as a
Smiling sweet-candy "Yes."

My mother proudly took it,
Framed it behind glass,
And hung it on the wall
Above my bed.