Nursing the Drought

god how I wanted my body to bleed
like the big girls down there,
down there where it felt so good under tight seam shorts,
warm shower stream
and bareback pony yes
it was time to be a woman all grown in
but things were taking too long that sundown summer
when my first dance partner went away
away until September for the first time I ached
down there and this time decided to take
control
cross-legged on the carpet panties off
with barrette clips snapped over
flesh, plastic pinched between fingers harder
for the pain the pulse and sting I lined the pink folds
with purple bows and green butterflies perched
in punishment thinking maybe the blood will come
with the pain but no, nothing

clothespins line and expose
the layers between legs in the mirror,
maybe it comes from deeper in?

I studied my sister’s tampon box diagram
opened the paper quiet soft soft
so no one would hear my curiosity unfold
should I lift my leg over the toilet or spread my
knees and aim back towards the “anus” like they said
and what of this vagina vag-eye-na?
there right in the middle of my other “we don’t talk about that” openings
for what? shit blood piss I counted the three
with my finger, trying to find the muscle to push out the blood
make me a woman somehow
but fingers pressed deep and even the rounded handle of the wooden brush
did not bring the blood it just stung like hell,

no it took Michele Rosewood from across the field
feeling my breasts, checking for lumps like she saw in that magazine
and do I think it is that normal how our nipples hardened under the pinch?

More touching but no milk came out like it did with her Mom and the baby,
I knew it was no use I was not a woman yet
but still it was that day down her basement the blood came
she shrugged her shoulders
got me a pad
said you should go get new underwear
I waited for my Mom
to go hang out the laundry
so I could confess to her in private what happened,
my face still burning with shame.

when I went to bed early
unsure which way a bleeding woman
was supposed to sleep so I laid on my back
hands cradling my belly
wondering if there was a baby in there now
and if so how would I feed it without any milk

Meet me in the blind spot

Meet me in the blind spot

I almost said
“will you be my Valentine”
before remembering the month.

It is September.
Your women let corners of their paper hearts
show
like lace sewed under a hem
that pretends to hide a blush of surprise.

But whenever they stop to speak with me
they drop pet names like matchbook covers
wondering if I recognize all your numbers
and baby, I don’t.

Do we deny their existence
or snip the sashes of purgatory, spray clean
fingerprints marked in dust?

No, this is not jealousy
this is inbreeding.
So many skinnies to dip in one little pool!
No, this is not about bobbing or fishing
or pissing downstream.
Baby, I just want to know
will you be mine?
Suspend our disbelief and say it,
Mine
Yours

Paint my heart solid or don’t paint it at all,
jtell me to believe and I will.
Alive or gone, let us send out our ghosts
for pastries and tea, on to the west side coastline maybe
they will soak their skirts in a new ocean forget the way home
while you take me
alone.

Remind me again why we are here.
Solid and bent backwards your hand supports my spine
Feed me your evidence.
Love me blind September Valentine.

Limbo

You never leave me alone for long, my love.
Just when the bruises of the last fall heal
and soft ground molds the contours of my body,
just when I find sleep under the painted clouds that hover
motionless, you come back eager to try a new pair of wings.

This time you have plans to drop sandbag memories
so we can fly light. This time you promise
to hold tight all the way out.
I almost have faith this time will be different,
that your proposed love can save me.

But we know escape is impossible.
We had our chance. We lived it once
and still did not believe
there was something greater than this.

Lover, please. I will never leave this place.
Kindly sell your feathers elsewhere.