Female Pelvis

Female Pelvis

female pelvis.png



After six months in Hades, Persephone brought us the Death-time, went from being a jewel of fertility to the woman who made all green things shrivel and die. All because she was hungry. All because she gave in, and not knowing if she would ever be rescued. Eve, too, but she tried to come out of the darkness, and in doing so we all are punished with pain and death forever. Always, the girl just reaches out her hand a little, and gets hacked off at the elbow.


I just wanted you. It was okay at first. But after we found a rhythm, oh, I knew what the fuss was about, when you could bring me down and then push me over and over again, into a land that didn’t feel quite safe, where I would lose my feelings of control—how I never really did feel safe giving them up to you and how I never really should have, my mother was right and I knew too late—where my mind would get carbonated, coming up from all sorts of places in my body, my cunt my spine my brain my stomach my womb my asshole, but the bubbles were filled with tiny thoughts of YES and OH SHIT and I THINK I LOVE YOU and THANK YOU GOD and WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS and STOP THIS NOW and NEVER STOP IT and GOOD. And you, all coyote smiles and gravelly raven coos, you’d let my mind get mostly air in the top and then stop. Sometimes you wouldn’t even want one, just made me come again and again and again. I thought you generous because I was young.

When I was fruitful, your hand, dry and rough in mine, slipped your friend’s arm around me because you had a gig that night and had to sleep. He was perfectly gentlemanly with me at the first circle of hell, took me back, still shedding slivers of our shade, to your home. And I was able to cramp and bleed and ooze in your bed for four days and you held me soft as sand against the window in the desert. When I was done with the worst of it, I drove myself home.

Your kind still appeals to my body. I still feel that tiny pull of hipbones to the greasy film, two days of beard, affected lazy eyelids. But the furthest I go now is a free drink and a well-executed tongue down my throat in a dirty bathroom stall. I still have your picture, though. I still have it.