SHOUT(25)

(check yourself, Ken; I was eleven when that shit went down)— not even after I “blossomed”

to quote my father’s excruciating phrase, did I understand the THINGness.

You see, I remained for years pig-ignorant of its precise geography.

So you can imagine my surprise when I finally got comfortably naked with a sexual partner fully equipped with a THING and I turned on the light to study this specimen.

(It must be noted that the THING wilted a bit under the spotlight’s glare, but later rallied.) And I was shocked, shocked I tell you, to discover that the THING, while definitely rooted in the body’s southern hemisphere is not literally between your legs, but rather proudly planted in the Brillo pad of pubic hair that grows on the front lawn of your crotch.

Who knew?

But anyways, you let me down, Ken, but I’ve made my peace with it. With you.

With the confused girl-child who used to be me.

And Barbie? I’ve got nothing to say to that bitch.

Not till she learns to walk flat-footed,

like a real woman.





free the bleed




We bleed with the moon near half our lives

but still

some guys think it’s freaky disgusting, unnatural The location of the vagina between where we pee

and where we poop

is a design flaw, maybe, but it doesn’t account for the shaming for the sense that somehow women are weaker

or foul

or damned

because we bleed once a moon our bodies are muddy rivers overflowing the banks to fertilize the fields, hurricaning oceans with the energy of time, tide, and galaxies, silver ice caps defying the sun’s feeble attempts to melt us we bleed and grow stronger some of us breed, pouring blood into love, planting his seed in our egg creating life and feeding it our red-coated strength birthing in a torrent of salt and blood

we are mountains

don’t call it a period: call it an

exclamation point





shame turned inside out




Sisters of the torn shirts.

Sisters of the chase around the desk, casting couch, hotel room, file cabinet.

Sisters dragging shattered dreams bruised hopes

ambitions abandoned in the dirt.

Sisters fishing one by one

in the lake of shame; hooks baited with fear always come back empty.

Truth dawns slow when you’ve been beaten and lied to,

but it burns hard and bright once it wakes.

Sisters, drop everything. Walk away from the lake, leaning on each other’s shoulders when you need

the support. Feel the contractions of another truth ready to be born: shame turned

inside out

is rage.





callout




we’re sisters of the march you and me

heavy backpacks digging

through our skin, bloody footprints evidence of the miles we’ve walked it happened to you, too I know it did

that’s why I’m so confused I see your scars, that flinch around your eyes when another dude loud-plows over your words cuts you off from the herd on purpose stands too close, drags your name to his fame eats our time by not sharing the mic gets paid twice as much for half the work flirts with girls trust-blinded and excited cuz he’s buying the drinks

it happened to you, too I know it did

but when the evidence of another victim is presented

bruised, battered, dented, and shattered you snort derision, bark suspicion envisioning our past world

where girls had to shut up and take it like you did, unsupported in even ordinary ways never daring to report or demand a criminal court investigation, no—you sneer even though her flirtation was not an invitation to degradation

he raped her

and you, still bleeding decades later aren’t healed enough to help, instead you’ve become that bitch pissing on our sisters in a feeble, feline climb to the top claws out

it happened to you, too I know it did, I can smell it I see how pain frames your crooked smile, that quick shift to defense, chin up, fists ready

I’m sorry you didn’t get the help you needed you deserved a soft afghan wrapped around you people to hold your hands

while you learned to walk again so stand with us now

let’s be enraged aunties together enthroned crones, scythes blazing instead of defending these men who laugh at you when you turn your back lean on me





ignore stupid advice




Don’t get killed Don’t get robbed

Don’t get billed for jobs that were abandoned.

Don’t let your house burn or your pipes burst

or your children curse Don’t let your purse get stolen.

Don’t get trapped underwater Don’t get food poisoning or the flu (for God’s sake, get vaccinated) Don’t get cancer, seriously, do not get cancer.

Don’t get T-boned by a drunk Don’t get struck by lightning Don’t get allergies

Don’t get depressed

Don’t get noticed by the IRS

Don’t get catfished or gaslit

Don’t get ghosted by an ex Don’t get talked into a bigger car Don’t get bitten by a rabid dog Don’t get your boo angry Don’t get cheated on Don’t get called out dragged

tagged in pics