Mumbling while I wait for her

Painting by Andre Kohn

As she walks towards me,

I think of how sad silence can be

when it precedes pre-eternity.

I dig my hands into the absolute,

finding I have nothing to carry

but my own theories and lack

of confidence.

It is difficult to be a woman

when one is expected to be a poetical lie,

a transcendental reader of Elle

for your nails and make-up should be

unforgettable.

Sometimes I wonder how many of us

have become zombies, neglecting our existence

just to please the other as we become

Barbie's sister.

Attitude they say.

The outrages of life I think

for she is coming towards me

and my elaborated reflex is being dissolved.

How intolerable my face is

without a lipstick for them.

My dehydration is evident.

Should I be ashamed of what is uncontrollable?

I am a woman though.

Tomorrow my stubborn angry flesh might

rebel again against the tyranny of our androcentric

demanding society. It is recalcitrant to find out

who you are or have been beneath the blush.

This is who I am: my extra pounds justify my freedom.

Captivity is only for those who never say

what they mean.

I can survive my shortage of feminine attributes.

When she finally embraces me, she will find me

exactly like what I have always been:

a woman of excess, a generous witch (not the Hollywoodian kind

for I don't have a wart on my nose), an awkward crone,

an unpleasant exuberant force.

In the end I will only have myself, I will be my only question.

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012