mandag 13. juni 2011

av Francesca Lia Block

she used to wear vintage dresses over her bikini
   and flip-flops
ride to venich beach to read virginia on the sand

she used to make collages with images of the virgin
mary and roses she used to write poetry

she went to a ballet high
school and could have died
for beauty
not only from the eating disorder
but from the words of the mean mistress

she found her mother on the floor of the bathroom
with a bottle of pills
but still alive

her roommate in college was raped
   and brutally murdered
another friend died the same way at a different place
   and time

her terror turned into worry
about small things
like the overgrown cuticle on her little toenail

she married an artist and went to clubs
with scrawls on the walls called art
kept her collages private
intricate and glistening as hidden body parts

her husband stopped having sex with her
she doubted her poetry
because a mean bulimic woman
told her she couldn't write

she took up african dance and then brazilian
because they honored rather than denied her ass
helped her heal her marriage
and the scars of ballett and anorexia

she danced into the arms of the drummer
they coul have been brother and sister
he read her a poem on their first date
she was still married when she made love to him
left her husband almost right away
married again on the hills above malibu
dancing on the crest above the sea
   with white flowers in her hair

she gave birth to two children
decorated her house in pink and green velvet
teaches thirteen year olds literature every day
comes home and cooks dinner every night
writes her books in the weekends

the war maked her so sad she needs meds
she's okay though
her husband still wants her whenever possible
still reads her poetry aloud

she has finally discovered
the brutality is not inside of her
however there are many roses, there are altars,
   there are stories

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