There’s no gender in the box,
colors aren’t boys or girls
I tell my three-year-old
who refuses to take the pink crayon,
plump hand a resistant fist.
I begin sketching two offerings;
a razzmatazz squealer with large snout,
mud-palace porcine surely no princess.
Next I send shock waves, a blue damsel
in godmother-gifted cerulean frock.
No anatomical hues, not one prism
with a preference of pronouns.
This box a world of expressions;
we can choose to sample them all.
Slowly he accepts wisteria,
exactly matching his eyelids.
Next magenta, just the shade of his lips,
orchid nose, carnation cheeks;
he takes each and draws
himself in shades of Crayola.
Amanda Coleman White is a writer currently working toward a PhD that combines creative writing and Celtic myth. She has been a featured poet with Indolent Press, and has poems published in literary magazines such as Channel magazine, Obsessed with Pipework, Sarasvati, The Dawntreader, and After Happy Hour Review.