nothing new

it's only the 4th
day
of the new
year an' i'm already
running
behind
myself
on bills
housework
paperwork
exercise
correspondence
phone calls
hair-dying
poetry

sight is not my only sense

clouds cover the moon
looks like the moon
leaves but it only
looks that way
miles of clouds
have to pass before
i can see the moon
again looks like
the moon disappears
into the endless darkness
but it only looks that way
sight is not my only sense
clouds pass


(for my son whose delightful face once beamed like the full moon)

this sucks

another tooth gone
don't wanna look at anybody
don't want anybody lookin' at me

Vagina Exhibit

.
my 1st time

part of the vagina festival
(love those 2 words next to each other)
i study the vagina
portraits by myself
i clench at the
pierced ones tighten
at the old ones and odd-looking
ones i know my
face reveals a
touch of horror
and maybe some guilt for
the horror
i stay
examine these
close-ups of that
mysterious region
"down there"

..
my 2nd time

no festival this year
exhibit's in the
photographer's apartment
i go determined
to get through this and be
richer for it
there are more portraits this time
i stare at each
then leave convinced i am
overdue for a long
between-the-thighs
look in the mirror

...
my 3rd time

last chance
before the portraits become
a book's pages
i bring acceptance
and a friend
we so enjoy
commenting to each other

even more portraits this time
unfolding moments
my very large-breasted
friend i've known over 3
decades steps close and whispers
she has reason to believe she was
born with both organs

On Alexandra Jacoby's Paintings

she takes the beige
high rise & steel bridge
gives them rich
color subtle
curves
thick
textures
makes these angular
structures relatable
to the most feminine among us

Immoral Dumping

I learn so much about a person
by how much of his own garbage
he won't claim

Alexandra Jacoby's Vagina Exhibit 2010 (or It Always Seems To Take A Movement To Reclaim What Was Rightfully Ours To Begin With)

vagina portraits
ninety-two
real vaginas
light-skinned vaginas
hairy vaginas
shaven vaginas
stubbly vaginas
fluffy vaginas
dark-skinned vaginas
both-gendered vaginas
constructed vaginas
curvy vaginas
young vaginas
healthy vaginas
flowery vaginas
older vaginas
mutilated vaginas
intact vaginas
floppy vaginas
silver-haired vaginas
dark bushy vaginas
vagina portraits
wall-to-wall
making herstory
affecting female culture
making it normal for us
to know how our vaginas look

We're All So Fuckin' Insecure

this fine and muscular man sucks in his belly
she embraces it as area yet to kiss lick hold close
she worries about her silver roots returning
he strokes her hair, calls it her highlights
she's shy about disrobing, revealing more imperfections
her best friend assures her when pussy hair
is showing, men don't look
at varicose veins

to me

i love when you
cook for me

could be eggs
chicken
ravioli
lightly buttered toast

it's the company
that makes it
taste so good

not science fiction or rocket science

if no one
devalued women
for their sexuality
everyone
would get laid
a lot more

as Lionel Richie's "Just To Be Close To You" plays

she wears lace
her back bare
strokes her face
an' her hair
hands so warm
like his eyes
feels her form
though she shies
she wants him
squeezing tight
candles dim
feels so right
holds her strong
strong as song

he hadn't earned the right to say this

he told her she is a "case"
(as if everyone else weren't);
if he knew what was in her case,
he may have the opportunity to
see she's a miracle

El Esposo

he used to say
an artist had to
be a narcissist.
he stopped cultivating
his painting. she was stuck
with a narcissist & no art --
just replicas of his father.

Divorce, Poor American Style

she gets to enjoy exclusive use
of the "marital residence"
otherwise known as the one-bedroom
bronx apartment she had years before they met
she gets to keep her name
the name her parents gave her
upon arrival
thank God, in this country, she gets
to keep her clit too
it's only fair
she let him keep his balls

Day 9: (not yet titled)

as the marriage ended
he needed her to say
she wasn't the "marrying
kind" though she certainly
was the monogamous kind
the truthful kind
the loving kind
a solid partner
but she was not a
suitcase, silently by his
side with no needs of its own
she wasn't a shoe
happy to be under his foot
tossed when not needed
she spoke, she complained
she needed real love
like the kind she gave
nothing less was truly okay
& she usually didn't pretend it was

he, on the other hand, has more
lovers when he's married than single
(he's not single long enough
to risk having to live with himself)
he decides when
conversations end
he decides what may be
spoken on he decides to go
to bed even when she's
been awake over twenty hours
teary-eyed rocking their colicky baby
desperately composing lullabies

he's the "marrying kind"
ready to cage his third one

Day 8: "Be Real for the Camera"

forced, skin-stretched
toothpaste commercial
smiles; masks
thinly veiling
unsmiling truths.
spare me.
i don't need your display
of teeth; i can see your
fangs through your eyes.

how deeply beautiful
are the real smiles. the
ones you don't think about
first, they just burst through --
an end result, not a decision.
can't fake real.

Poem-a-Day 6 and Day 7

(presently untitled)

many have thought i am psychic
i thought they are just blind
we're probably both right

...............................................................
sisters and brothers

kim & frank

she describes her arguments
with her brother
both convinced of how right
they each are
at some point i can't tell
whose voice it is
i say, you & your brother
sound very similar
her head swings around
eyes widen
she blurts, shut up!
i laugh

rosie & joe

first day of class
she tells me i'm gorgeous
and so nice
few months later she asks
me to join her at her
favorite bar
her treat
i wonder what kind of
like this is; i go
she greets me with
an embrace and her
handsome muscular brother
i am immediately in lust
with him
she, like a broker, stands
between us saying,
when the time is right
i wonder why
she brought him
maybe to measure
how hetero or homo i am
not sure she likes the results
she can't bear the thought of
her brother doing her teacher
i can't bear waiting
i can always prematurely
promote her

me & bob

siblings by choice
different families
similar craziness
i tell him about
kim & frank
getting through christmas
day without arguing
until the very end
bob says, it sounds like us
no, i say, they fight like
macho men -- to be right
& on top like whose
dick is bigger
we don't fight like that,
he agrees
no, i say, we are more like
screaming vaginas
yes, he says, we counter
with sarcasm

Day 5: a pissed off one

those who have said that i am
"too smart"
should finish the thought
"too smart for ... "
then focus on
their own
evil intentions

Day 3: sins of the father; Day 4: the dykes she attracts

sins of the father

the first valentine's day
after having their baby
the only valentine's day
her husband gave her
no card
no gift
no flower
no indication
she was his valentine

this past year
through the separation
her son gave her
no mother's day card
no gift
no flower
no indication
she'd been an amazing mother
..................................................................................

the dykes she attracts

the dykes
she attracts
are more
controlling
than
the men
she's been with

she goes home
locks her door
hugs herself
exhales
so relieved
she didn't get lodged
under another foot
................................

"12/31/09 @ 11:58pm" - [day 2 of poem-a-day]

two minutes before the ball is to drop
tossed between coffee and a screwdriver
suddenly interrupted by the pressing
of his lips against mine

though he isn't here

convinced he's reliving our one kiss
at this moment
i receive it passionately

one day there may be a machine
to measure these things
and scholarly reports to follow

i am guided by my innermost self
i've discovered once lit
there's a fantastic answer key built in