I am the keeper
of women's secrets and their un-
spoken silences.

Within my etched walls
are confined criticisms
of men and more
men and their masculine
friends.

I know who was here
(SusanorSandyorJames)
and when
and what they did while sitting down
and what they did while standing up.

I am privy to their nicknames
and their dislikes
and their name-calling
habits.

I am the journal of the poor:
their sex lives (good or soul-
less), their ethics, their innocence,
their frustrations and favorite foods.

I am their black book
and I make strangers meet:
I expose everything
I conceal nothing.

Everyone fears me --
if I fall apart.
Still, they wait in line.
They depend upon my availability.

I am the common shoulder:
I hear colorful phrases and problems,
and there is the ubiquitous she-dog
and there is female-bonding.

I am insuperable --
a barrier to the outside world
a promise and a miracle
a haven for sleepy campers.

My quilted stories passed many hands,
many generations: that ancient gum
is proof.

I sacrifice an orifice
to the community of communicators:
There is no pay for postage.
Others pay homage: they can stick posters.

Subjected to abuse,
I persevere and prevent others
from pillaging their privacy
(and virtue: important
to their ancestors).

I am revered:
an icon to the distressed
a savior to victims of nature --
I respect their release.

I am a necessity
I protect their bodies
from waste
from wasting...

I am the mother
of all inventions
I am my mother's daughter
I am Nature's daughter
I am Modernity's daughter.

I am my story
I am my song
Perchance, they might stay
and whistle along.

Back to the Purple Pages.