Academic journal article Women's Studies Quarterly


Academic journal article Women's Studies Quarterly


Article excerpt

I'm obsessed with my face-

this altar of toxins,

how I gleam in sacrament.

As if the name you gave me

means what it means:

bitter tear of the sea,

virgin whom God deployed for sacrifice.

Congratulations. My galaxy orbits around

a black hole: I'm the pit

into which children roll their dirty pennies

in the science museum they'll never remember

adventuring to, due to the gray matte walls

and the long sighs of their parents,

ashamed to be reminded of laws

that govern the universe, which they too were taught as children

but forgot.-See, I remember more

and thus, I'm awarded a mask that is gnarled

but in high gloss. Once you try it on:

you can't take it off. I wish you told me that

when you knotted the velvet cord

behind my head-pointless-and reminded me,

if anyone saw my smile,

they'd rape me, Anything that enters you

is violence.

Congratulations. The technology of voicemail

ensures the smooth capture of your banshee voice

into its ethereal trap, for me to replay later

before the sun comes up.

Me and your voice

in the dark-just like old times! And again,

I'm slain as your voice skins off my dragon skin.

As for my scales,

the bedspread soaks them up oh so politely.

Congratulations. You're still not a grandmother. …

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