“I Am Refusing”

— body language by Weddie Thiên  —​​

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"You Are Refusing," said your shoving, said the turning of your face,

Said the baby at the table flinging peas around the place.

But the world keeps a ledger, and it marks each "no" as rude,

And it teaches you to swallow what you never would have chewed.

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Now the toddler has a word, and it's the first she loves to use,

It's a "No!" to the bathtub and a "No!" to both her shoes.

It's a "No!" to Auntie's kisses and a "No!" to naps at noon,

It's a "No!" to scratchy sweaters and a "No!" to Grandpa's spoon.

She will stamp it, she will sing it, she will shout it from the stairs,

She will say it with her body, with her elbows, with her hair.

She does not plead a reason and she does not ask your leave,

Her "No!" is just as honest as the heart upon her sleeve.

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She is not being cruel and she is not being bad,

She is not taking vengeance on her mother or her dad.

She has never heard the notion, not a whisper, not a word,

That a "no" needs a permit before it can be heard.

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Then it came from Mother's kitchen, then it came from Father's chair:

"Don't be rude. Go hug your auntie. Be a good girl. Learn to share."

Not a shout and not a spanking, just a frown along the way,

And a sunbeam when she's "yes"-ing, and a cloud when she says "nay."

So the "no" moved to the House of Good and Bad to claim its room,

Where a "yes" earns her a gold star and a "no" earns her the gloom.

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So she nods and she smiles and she says, "Oh, sure, I'll come,"

While her belly whispers "don't" and her feet are going numb.

She takes the extra shift and she lends the extra cash,

She holds the phone for hours while her evenings turn to ash.

Now it's nothing they are doing, for their voices are her own,

She has disowned her "no," and she's done it all alone.

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And the "yes" that wasn't meant becomes a pebble in your shoe,

Then a stone, and then a boulder, and it's rolling after you.

What you swallow in the morning is a grudge by afternoon,

It's a quarrel by the winter and a silence by next June.

You can see the cost to you, it's the tired, it's the ache,

But the cost to them is hiding in "I did it for your sake."

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"I Am Refusing, I Am Refusing," and it's nothing that I owe,

Not a weapon, not a verdict, not a punishment, a "no."

Before the House of Good and Bad ever taught me to kowtow,

Before anybody taught me what the nice ones must allow,

"I Am Refusing," and the refusing is there to care

For the fence around my garden, so there's still a garden there to share.

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When I walk away from something, it is not because you're bad,

It's that staying would be costing me the only life I've had.

I can leave without a lecture, I can go without a curse,

For the leaving done with blaming only makes the leaving worse.

And you, too, may refuse me, on a Monday, all year long,

For your "no" and mine together make the "yes" between us strong.

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For a "yes" that can't say "no" is just a coin without a stamp,

It's a lighthouse with no keeper and a lantern with no lamp.

But the "yes" that follows freedom is a "yes" you can believe,

It's a "yes" that comes to stay and doesn't hurry off to leave.

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"We Are Refusing," though the most have yet to start,

And they carry every "sure" like a stone upon the heart.

They will never find their garden if they never build a gate,

I will say it plain beside them, and they'll learn it’s not too late.

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You heard "no" from a toddler, then you found it was your own,

Then you taught it to the others, and their gardens, too, were grown.

Three roads into knowing, and they all arrive at grace:

From the hearing, to the owning, to the holding of your place.

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"I Am Refusing, I Am Refusing," and it's nothing that I owe,

Not a weapon, not a verdict, not a punishment, a "no."

Before the House of Good and Bad ever taught me to kowtow,

Before anybody taught me what the nice ones must allow,

"I Am Refusing," and the refusing is there to care

For the fence around my garden, so there's still a garden there to share.