Friday, April 22, 2011

Two NORMAL poems


My Cabin

I don’t normally send texts
about my vagina.
I don’t even remember why I did it
this day.I remember only the bait-and-switch
of autocorrect, reassuring me at first with v-a-g- then
amending my ‘vagina’ to ‘cabins’
as if the word had never
How I raged at first! Feminism
brimming. Humans, I sizzled,
have forgotten
their origin.

Then I read it again
And again.

Something, perhaps,About having my cabins examined,
Or maybe what I wanted so-and-so to do
To my cabins after work.
And I realized.
The vagina is
A cabin.

A winter womb,
clenched doors sealing in
the balm of fizzing fires,
unfreezing even the iciest
A summer stopover,
How they rejoice, after hiking miles,
when they spot it
airing campers in
and out with fluid
and even at its oldest,
mossy boards clutching
a last rusted nail,
it makes men shiver with a wild ache
to bang at the door
just one more time.



Is it the prim and proper, white picket fence, blonde hair, blue eyes and creamy white skin?

Is it good grades, bike helmets, elbow pads and cowboys and Indians?

Is it, speak when spoken to, legible penmanship and perfect attendance?

Is it movies with catty girls, dates with zit faced geeks and mall shopping with a vengeance?

Is it the power suit, the MBA and the stock portfolio?

Is it the 2.5 kids, the daughter’s wedding and trips to the Pochonos?

Is it from my father’s house to the sorority house to my husband’s house?

Is it the porch swing, 20 cats and a shrine to the dearly departed spouse?


What is it really???

It's… hula hoops, bellydance and marching band madness

It's blue hair, stripy sox and coffee shop badass

It is playing with fire, and Thriller parades

It is saying, HELL NO, to drama and hate…

It's screaming some lyrics at the top of your lungs

It's slammin poetry when scared shitless its bein’ done wrong

It is letting go and holding on and joining the circus

It is feathers and clay and leather panel skirts

It's cryin loud and lovin hard, With. No. Exceptions

It's standing tall, head held high and lacking perfection

It is living alone, having no kids, with NO apology

It is quiet time, stretching the limbs and learning to see

It's finding yourself, loving yourself and accepting what comes

It's generosity and patience and another trip around the sun

It is losing the folk that made you feel less than.

It is having a purpose you can believe in.

IT …is what YOUR eyes want to see

This is how it is… so. mote. it. be.

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