My Goddess Ain’t Thin
In the entire damn history of the world,
women have always had bellies.
Nice, big, round ones.
Venus of Willendorf is proof
of fat women
30,000 years ago—hot as fuck.
Show cellulite some love—
modern bellies covered, fussed at,
rejected and doctored.
Shamed into shapewear, weakness,
lack of decent medical care.
If I have a belly, how can I be strong?
And yet, women were goddesses,
with curves, wombs revered,
still sexy without a baby,
belly and hips arousing.
So, wear that fatkini,
get your belly a little sunburnt,
worship fat goddesses.
They know all about your shame.
Dandelion Wish: Update
I blew seeds into stars
Asked why not my family?
Weren’t we in more danger?
Our ice rinks turned into morgues.
I ceremonially slid myrrh and olibanum soap over body for months.
It disappeared into residue.
Should my grief, dead wishes, flow down drain?
There are so many dandelions to pluck,
seed the galaxy with, create more galaxies with—
but while wishes multiply—there are none strong enough
to fix our family.
I talk to your mother once a week,
anything to break up nostalgia,
endless holidays smearing her calendar.
Each seed that I have blown to ether
drifts back into my chest.
The cave there holds tight those seeds,
but no dreams come true.
Wishes are magical on their own—
buy we manifest, not necromancy.
I clutch your dandelion wishes.
The myrrh is gone, the seeds safe,
but my wishes have changed.
You are all dandelion.
While you dream.
I blow your wishes.
How She’d See Me
for Carrie Fisher
“I drowned by moonlight” dangling, tangled by sideways rainbows, unsure of dramas typing in my head,
unsure of “motive” and “pure” and glances
I gasp when others sigh and frown as others giggle and contrariness comes in threes and “I’m feel I’ve very sane about crazy I am” and still sigh
raw emotion dips
leaps out of mouth
dreams out of hands
I wish we could “inaugurate Bipolar Pride Day,” I mean, mania is one step more magenta than the rainbow—and if you throw in ribbons, glitter, and bondage boots—yea pretty much got
the dirty drip
“strangled in my bra” would headline my fizzled eyes and the books tossed aside in the corners where the spiders read.
And I would rest—deep forest—deep moss—”There’s no room for demons when you’re self-possessed”
it’s true, how many demons does one need?
ten? five? I guess twins might be nice
a serious one for mania—keep ya reigned in
one—one step loonier than ya to pep up depression
“Instant gratification takes too long”
*quotes are by Carrie Fisher