By Kimberly O’Connor
it does not mean
you didn’t drive the mule
up the mountain every morning
it does not mean the outhouse
was a pleasure it does not
mean you had enough to eat
or that you grew up easy
that no one ever looked at you
sideways and mean-eyed
that you didn’t carry water from the spring
it does mean
when you cleaned up
and came down the mountain
your body was your own
you could choose any
seat in the theater you wished
whistle at any pretty girl that caught your eye
dip your mouth to any fountain
and drink till you weren’t thirsty anymore
Kimberly O’Connor grew up in North Carolina and now lives in Golden, Colorado, where she teaches for Colorado School of Mines and Community College of Denver. Her book White Lung was a finalist for the 2021 Colorado Book Award.