The girl soldier wears lipstick,
wisps of hair falling from her bun,
her eyelashes as long and dark as spider legs.
She undoes her top buttons, not really enough
to show cleavage, but her army insists
on a sprig of collarbone
as a reminder that she is dainty.
She holds her gun like a hair dryer
or a kitchen appliance she loves
but, until recently, has taken for granted.
The ocean waves crash behind her-
the enemy boats glistening in the sun
along with her hat-pin and the metal crowns
on the lapels of her jacket.
She is proud to be a part of the Defense Force
is the lie the picture is telling,
as blatant as the old lie that all women love to iron
or live in the suburbs
as long as they have the right products.
How big these falsehoods are, how many seas they span.
If there have to be girl soldiers at all,
shouldn't they fight for girl things?
To get them out of girl ghettos,
to shed them of their pink collar jobs
and the hoods that hide their faces
in so many parts of the world?
To get a girl's perspective of religions?
To overthrow offices and put girls
in charge of governments?
But girls have been brainwashed they're safest
using their oppression as protection.
With their heels and hose
like big heavy shells on their backs,
they rely on jokes about girls not getting hit,
about girls who wear glasses.
They're told alone they'd be naked and squashy,
just ready for soup. But when they're reminded
this is not true, girls feel a deep strength
that has something to do with the earth.
Vaginas from all countries make peace-
the root of the word literally meaning sheath,
a resting place for men and their swords.