I was born to walk backward

treadmill belt beneath birch legs

among a forest of men

never turning my back

to the trees. My gender

the subtle insistent hoot

of an owl. Muscular women

get stared at. Tall women

get stared at. I swamp

myself muddy puddle small.

Find little hollows where I

can hide, or a wall to set

my back against.

This is a place where hunters

seek shadows and I have

always cast a long one.