Viewing entries in
womanhood
Every once in a while, In my mind, I roll over and touch a good memory of you just to make sure it’s still there. I gently probe around our tragedy, just to make sure of its honesty. And satisfied, I roll back over to now and feel grateful for the experiments in this life, which is all any of us can claim to be.
I give rock offerings to the gods
as I dance away from the Prehistoric Predators, happy that
these prison guards have no power over my scratchings on rocks.
No data, no goals, no mission and vision statement.
I bless the patrons with my smooth rocks and hope they will be my Pardoners.
And as I tiptoe through alleys and quiet streets, I drop offerings to show I do not hate.
People of my town, won't you please pardon me for being myself?
Cray 2022
These are rocks that Heidi Otis and I decorated for Dachshund on Parade, June 18th in Ellensburg.
Just a thought—Sanitary napkins aren’t very sanitary, are they? They are super gross. A big, thick bunch of paper product wadded up between the sweaty thighs of a menstruater. Ew. Blood gushing out. She can feel it as it leaves her vagina! Right there in front of everyone. It kind of goes…PloP…but she reminds herself there is no need to panic. She has no tampons in, so it’s not a leak, it’s just an earth shattering ‘PloP’. The thick lining of her uterus, devoid of its purpose, removes itself—PloP right into the awaiting sanitary napkin— in front of everyone.
She suspects there’s a smell, too, from the extra attention she’s catching from the boys. "No Big Deal", says the tampon commercial as the bikini clad teen frolics about joyfully.
To accept the bloody wad, she sometimes imagines she’s riding bareback or with a saddle-pad put there expressly to catch the rotted lining of her uterus. But no. She’s just walking down the hall, thinking that it’s time to use a tampon.
A tampon.
Someday she will stick a wad of dry white cloth up there instead. Or use a pretty pink plastic tool meant to shoot it up there painlessly…bearing teeth that will bite if her aim and touch is off.
Then, she has learned that if she feels that PloP, she will know for sure there is blood running down her leg, reminding her for better or worse that she has not made a baby this month.
These two rocks depict her cycle and her visitor.
Aunt Flo visited every 28 days which she either hated or appreciated deeply. It was never ‘no big deal’ like she said. It was an emotional and physical event that happened in broad daylight, her power and her handicap. Like a magic fairy, taking a shit in public.
