I was afraid I’d never get to thank you for never smelling like the first man who raped me. Thank you for walking 19 blocks past four crack houses to find strawberries for my pregnant mother. Thank you for all of my brothers, how they all have eyes like mine. How I have eyes like my mother. For the patience. For the singing in the shower. For teaching me that glass always sounds the same when it’s thrown across a room. For allowing my mother the space to teach a family how to love like women. How to cook, clean and fight like women.