Whatever Happened To You?
*photo by @k_rock28 on instagram!
*This collection carries themes of personal trauma, sex, and politics (for what else do poets write about these days?). Please proceed with care.
Whatever Happened To You?
By. MJB
Creating A Rescuer
Today I saw her on the street
the shadow of myself.
She didn’t recognize my face
-4 years made someone else
I noticed how her hair was thin,
the bags under her eyes,
but then I saw her skin was tan,
her smile full and wide.
Her bag was heavy on her back,
her pace went forward fast.
She had a million things to do,
but stopped flat in her tracks.
There it was- she finally saw
the woman she became,
not keeping smiles, or pace, or glow
– no, nothing but her name.
“What happened to us?”
said myself, that younger version there.
I sighed and ran a frail hand through
my longer, darker hair.
“You’ll take more pills someday,” I said
“though they won’t help you much.
Your body aches. Your grades, they fall.
You have a few breakups.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“No, surely that can’t be.
I’m strong, and smart, and driven,
and that boy’s in love with me.”
I snorted at her protest,
as I fondly reminisced.
“Yes darling, that’s the truth to you.
Go give that boy a kiss.
I think I’m jealous of that me
– the pain she doesn’t know.
I’m jealous of her innocence.
and health, and friends, and home.
But if I went and caught myself
before that tragic fall,
The paradox is that my catch
would not exist at all.
Calling Up Miss Mary Mag
An Elegy to My Virginity
Hello?
Yes, I’d like to be transferred to Mary, please.
No, not Mother.
I’d like Miss Mary Mag, please.
I lost something- No, I don’t want to talk to Anthony.
I’m sure he’s lovely, but first and foremost,
I’m a Methodist (I’m not merely searching for a saint).
and second… This is kind of a girl problem.
Yes, I can wait.
…
Hello, Mary.
I was wondering if you’d help me wash my sheets,
and if you’d mind taking me to the doctor.
I was also wondering…
How long did they call you a whore?
And how long did you feel like a whore?
How long did the inside of your legs feel sticky?
How many showers did it take?
How long did you smell someone else in your bed?
And was it supposed to stretch and hurt so much?
Was I supposed to feel so lonely?
Did they ever tell you there would be blood?
Why won’t he talk to me?
I’m afraid
I have an infection
(despite using the restroom, as I was supposed to).
My roommate once theorized that your body tells you if you’ve got the wrong man
by any means necessary.
I had to look up how to use the condom.
It seemed self-explanatory when I unwrapped it,
but that didn’t seem like the time to just- hope for the best.
I doubt I’ll ever feel clean again. I’ll keep showering.
I think I’ll always feel like a woman.
But I do miss being a girl.
Only one passing evening, one man,
and yet, it marked the beginning of my declining resale value.
I will never gaze upon a man again
without wondering if he says “I love you”
after.
I’m running out of soap, Mary.
I’m running out of soap, and homework,
and sweet little sweaters that create my facade of loveliness and responsibility.
Everyone in the cafeteria who looks upon me knows what a slut I am.
They know I’m a pathetic little,
open-for-business,
wanna-be “lady”,
with no boyfriend to show for it.
And so I was wondering if you might be able to talk to our father upstairs,
and see if he might repair me, just like he did for you?
Tell me, Mary Magdalene,
how could it be
that I am as virgin as you- a heavenly woman,
yet in my mind, I’m a ragged, stone dead, hell-ridden whore?
How is the world still turning?
How does my coffee taste the same each morning?
How are all the geese still floating in the lake with their life-long mates?
Are they mocking me?
Have they always been mocking me?
Non-virgin Mary, does it ever make you sad
that you (and your children like me)
won’t house the second-coming of Christ,
because it wouldn’t be a miracle if we got pregnant
-it would just be a problem?
Tell me
(and now is not the time to be gentle with me)
Was what I gained
worth what I lost?
The Imposition of Superstition
Just a pinch of salt over your shoulder (on the left).
Skipping cracks in sidewalks, just to save your mother’s health.
Knowing that your people matter more than what you own.
Looking to the stars, and thinking that you’re not alone.
Blowing seeds from flower puffs, and thinking of your dreams.
Dreaming that a fallen lash will somehow be the means.
Spreading ashes to the wind from pretty painted urns,
and wondering who caused the bang that made the planets turn.
Miracles where cats in wells defeat their futile odds,
then laughing at the Left-Wing girl who still believes in God.
How could that Christ from other lands ignore the paper forms
when families do what they must to steal away from wars?
I loved a woman once - a lot - and heard it was a sin,
but God is love, and love is love, so wasn’t that all Him?
I think it’s funny when we fight beneath the church’s steeple,
since I for one have never doubted– God loves all the people.
Dealbreaker Dealbreaker
To the guy I used to print my poems out for, because he couldn’t use his computer.
The problem is that we’re in love
and neither wants to say.
We’ll put it off, and put it off
until another day.
You’ll walk me to my car at night
and offer me your arm,
Invite me to your concerts,
and you’ll look at me with stars.
I’d rather date a liberal,
and you want someone sober–
for I’m the little Protestant,
and you’re Catholic and older.
Maybe I could stop drinking
and you could just vote blue.
We’d be Episcopalians–
could that be me and you?
Our babies would be pretty,
and our home– sweet, safe, and true.
Of course though, it would never work…
but don’t you dream it, too?
Talking To My Pet Snail
Isn’t it nice
to have a shell?
Fresh chopped veggies,
and mushy mashed fruits,
A spritz of cool water every other day,
and a fluffy layer of soil
every 2 weeks
like clockwork.
Taking care of you
is easier than taking care of me.
I’m not sure if you’re happy
but one-by-one
plink
plink
your little eyes pop out
and every day you
scoot
scoot
scoot
up and down your walls,
and your life goes on.
Your only job is to live,
and your protector sits on your back,
and my gentle hand maintains your world,
and I wish
I could be
you.
