I took up the white man's burden.
I didn't understand the creed.
I didn't know I wasn't white,
And, until I began to breastfeed,
I didn't realize I was not a man, either.

Giving birth had not convinced me
The way that nursing a baby did,
And slowly, slowly, scales fell off of me
And my eyes.

The history of our words themselves
Is the only history we can trust.
The grunts and onomatopoetics
That evolved into our verbs and nouns,
The deep meaning of nodding yes,
The religious vow of chewing together
And swallowing food that we have found
Together, and feeling the holiness
Of the words "milk," and  "mama," and "baby," and "dad."

And if we care to know the truth,
There are no white women
And no white men,
And there is no burden,
Except the weight of our own soul,
And sometimes that is heavier than others,
And sometimes we get just a glimpse that lightens it:
There is no religion more politically correct
Than breastfeeding.

-jenn