On Being Told to Be Careful
Do you remember childhood? All snot
Bubbles and chubby wrists and skinned knees
Grown-ups with gentle hands on our backs
Pushing us to try it, go boldly, be brave
Tell me: when did be brave become be careful?
New mantras for new bodies with new parts
You in Guadalajara three margaritas deep
Dancing salsa with men in a dingy club
Me late at night on an empty train car
Back from Brooklyn with a penned-in book
There are many ways a hand learns to tremble.
If we have daughters, let’s not tell them to be careful
No more indoctrination into fear. Instead, we’ll
Meet their eyes and say,
Pay attention
Pay attention, of course, to those daily dangers:
Sharp corners and hard falls and cruel men
But pay attention, also, to the monotonous miracles:
Rainbows and stray cats, and songs that give you chills
The sun on your face as you nap in the yard,
And the long-distance love of a sister
Air coming—
and going—
The sensation of your precious breath
Pay attention to these things, too. Yes—
these too.
By Jane McBride
Biography:
Jane McBride (she/her) is a graduate of Columbia University in New York City where she now works as a library assistant. Originally from the heart of the Rockies in Colorado, she spends her time writing fantasy novels, curating playlists, and solving crosswords. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in After Happy Hour!, Blue Marble Review, Quarto Literary Magazine, and elsewhere. You can find her rambling about writing at janemcbride.substack.com