My father taught me how to shoot a gun. br I aimed the barrel at the row of tin cans br and hit one out of five. Not bad, he said. br Not bad at all. For a girl. br My brother told me to direct the ridicule br at my flesh and not my heart br because flesh heals he said, the heart br mothers its inferiority forever br and plants her guilt. br My husband encircled my vulnerability br as if it were a rosebush, protecting br the sections under attack, relinquishing br those that were lost, without remorse. br I love you, he said, no matter what. br I am strong and astonished. br Contentedly suffused with knowledge. br I can run and throw and punch with purpose br whatever needs a good hit. br It's horrendous, my notion of femininity. br To have a mind, to have a heart.