Natural Traveler Magazine
•
February 11, 2019
Poetry Selections from ‘Any Time’
"Playing dress-up"
Arranged
In no order,
On a glass tray,
18 perfume bottles
Neighbor
9 colors
Of nail polish
Renting out
The purple bowl
I stole from
The kitchen.
7 lipsticks
Eager to call my lips home,
Wait their turn
Every morning,
behind 13 brushes
Preparing to begin the dance
Up my carved cheekbones
And around my undesirable jaw.
20 pairs of high heels
Face forward in my closet,
Whispering
How much they adore
The arc
Of my calves.
I have all of these
useless,
crucial things
To make me
Feel pretty.
I have nothing
That makes me feel pretty.
"This Is Me Screaming Now"
I was born a woman.
With two large breasts
And a weakness
between my legs,
I am a woman.
With that,
comes specific
and mandatory
obligations:
I have no choice but to look behind me
when I walk alone.
To look behind me
when I drive alone.
I must sit up straight and
listen when my father
tells me not to trust men.
A man.
I must apologize
when I say no,
but a man doesn’t hear me.
I’m sorry, I should have screamed.
I am the object of man’s desires.
He follows me.
He looks forward.
I look back
to all the women who were forced open
and spread wide
only to be slammed shut:
Iron doors
built and locked by men.
I am told to
Relax.
I am pressured to
Calm down.
To live in the ignorant
little pink bubble
blown from the lips of a man who
didn’t hear me say no.
A man who doesn’t think
That
really does happen here.
“In this town?”
A man who doesn’t know any
guys like that.
The doors of my home don’t have locks,
locked by a man who didn’t hear me say no.
But Her doors do.
And so do Hers.
I can’t put my trust in the world.
Men told me not to.
Men were right about this.
"From the Waitress’ Diary"
My skin shifted
around my bones
like it didn’t
belong to me
while I served him
his beer.
I wished
To be able to unzip
this costume
disguised as me,
but I spent an hour
dressing its smile up
this morning
with blush,
lipstick,
and a skirt
that twisted around my waist
and squeezed
Until my favorite color
Red circled my hips
If I could,
I’d hang my
flower petal flesh
up in the closet
and hide
from the wink he lovingly
branded into my nightmares
“Thank you,
Sweetie”.
My mouth filled up
with insecurities
like wet cotton balls
were all I’d ever eat
again,
like I was no longer
allowed to
swallow another
violent breath of air,
only smile and spread
for him.
I knew
I had no time
to grow wings
and take off
but Sir, please
put my clothes back on,
I watched you shred them
in your mind.
Tell me, Sir
if I were a man,
serving you,
would you touch
my lower back
again when you
demand another beer?
"Killing Sunflowers"
I am the petal she plucked
While she repeated your name.
You love her,
You love her not.
Your name echoes with each kill.
He loves me,
He loves me not.
I fell to the ground
Alongside the other
Torn, yellow petals
My small body laid withering,
Loving him,
Knowing there were more.
More just like me.
Breakable,
Colorful,
Beautiful.
A flower, no more.