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LAce Posted Monday, May 26th, 2003
36 years - SMF
Nadia Webb

Only one a year grasps any part of me.
My eye is the easiest but you can't hold my gaze
Much less my hand (which unfolds slowly, patiently)
My mouth is contrary. When yours slithers across mine, I wait.
Counting my way through it. (Everything is finite. Thank you. Thank you.)
My legs fused a long time ago.
I keep my vows but watch the skin around my eyes fracture.

The price of being a good woman is so prohibitive.
Where is my prize, my confetti?
The float and tiara?
My check?
My infomercial?
My spot on Oprah?

Headline reads,
"Woman discovers new levels of sexual dissatisfaction"
"Her avoidance of sex has become trite. It lacked the intensity and believability of her earlier refusals."
Journalistic hyperbole,
"Women euthenizes her body chunk-by-slice to put it out of its misery - A veritable sexual Masada."

Last year I glanced up from my own interment long enough to wrap around an associate professor. Three months later, I wondered why.
16 months later I flirt with someone's husband.

I want him to be my memory.
Remind me that life is good.
Remind me not to stop here.
Remind me that fidelity is supposed to inhabit you, not encase you.

Comments [post a comment]

Posted by Terrence Templeton on Wednesday, May 28th, 2003 at 4:04 PM
Hey, I heard that the gatekeeper just had a baby!

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