I was lying under a glass table
in a room full of old women
smoking
Marlboro Reds and Virginia Slims
pretending I was underwater
invisible to the conversation 
happening above me

my grandmother
pointed a gnarled finger at the door
where the muffled laughter 
of my grandfather and great uncle
could be heard
she declared
that no man
could grow a garden
without a woman behind him
because men couldn’t grow
anything
because they were good at only
breaking

it’s why I don’t talk to the plants
all with names hanging in our kitchen
there’s no point 
because it’s been said 
the register of a man’s voice
does nothing to help a plant grow

today I read that cats
form emotional bonds with women
and tend to manipulate men 
into getting what they want

it begs the question
what am I good for
except to rail against
the jagged edges of the world
until there’s nothing left
a job well done
with a closed mouth 
and heart
because even nature
believes us undeserving