Friday reflection

Jacinda

I am imagining a song called “Jacinda” in the style of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.”

I am imagining an ode to women

that isn’t about stealing other women’s men

or whether women can have it all

but about a person who is alive on this earth

in all of her specificity.

Specificity.

What a gift.

When I was younger, I watched the pilot episode

of “Girls,” and realized with a shock,

like a wave crashing over me,

“Wait. We’re allowed to share specific female experiences on TV?”

I didn’t realize we were allowed.

Allowed, by whom?

…“We”?

Specificity unlocks everything.

Tell me, what kind of woman is stealing your man?

Who is she? The girlfriend, the wife,

the hussy, the shrew — 

what kind of pancakes does she like,

and does she ride a bicycle,

does she prefer tampons or pads?

And who is her mother, who are her grandmothers, who

are the specific women

whose specific existence

allowed

her

to exist?

I am imagining a song called “Jacinda.”

Jacinda, Jacinda,Jacinda, Jacinda,

I’m begging of you, please don’t let them stop you

from being

who you are.

To all the girls in the back

Don’t let them stop you

Take a break, take two, or don’t

It’s up to you

You are allowed.

Jacinda.