Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Darcy Lynn Feb 21
the first time i felt like a woman
the ends of my fingers polished, lashes crusted to the sky, and sticky gloss that glued my mouth shut,
cotton bullets on strings in cardboard casings and demonstrations of crushed
flower petals—feminine virtue
defined by the presence of a *****

the first time i felt like a woman
fingers curling around the rubber fetus in
my pocket, nine year old hand
pressed to my nine year old womb, as
my classmate’s mother, donning culottes
and the armor of God, issued
Psalm 139 bookmarks to the class

the first time i felt like a woman
the stain of Life, wine dark and blooming
across my blue Fruit of the Loom’s
during fifth grade band class, at home
my mother demanding to know why i didn’t tell her of my first period, she asks if
i am a compulsive liar and leaves the
Wal-Mart bag in my room, unaware she
bought me the wrong bra size

the first time i felt like a woman
my first love said “I’m not putting it away until you touch it” and i hear his voice
when i check for ankle slashers
under my car before i climb in

the first time i felt like a woman
in tenth grade the chapel speaker’s mouth saying “the most precious thing a woman can give to a man is her body” to a room full of teenagers, i wonder if
my future husband sits among us,
and if he wonders what i look like naked

the first time i felt like a Woman,
my girlhood had to die.
Darcy Lynn Feb 21
They eye me the way I once
did you, reminders of red wines paired
with seared cuts,
sugared plums, spiced ***,
and saccharine frosting
whipped to delicate peaks.

They are stringy and shiny
with bulging green bellies and
for a moment I imagine them
bursting free from their pods and
spilling into the aisle—shining like
wet eggs under the fluorescent lights.

White-knuckling the cart and chin just
high enough to gaze at the produce
from the corner of my eye, I push
past, I push on, I push away from

You know I can see you watching me,
you’d said that night when I tried the same
move on you, voice like a snake
and mouth red with merlot
you moved to me and you whispered
your song; eyelids flitting like moon
dusted moth wings, and guilty, wet
heartbeats blooming across our faces—

In another aisle now I release
my breath. Ribs unfurl like sails and
nothing ever happened.

I never called you back.
Symphonic excursions and gourmet
paranoia ceased, and as time moved on,
so did I.

But I will never cook with fava beans again.
For my poetry class, the assignment was to write a persona poem. This is a piece from the point of view of Martha Stewart regarding her short-lived relationship with Sir Anthony Hopkins. She left him because she could not separate him from his role as Hannibal Lecter.
Darcy Lynn Feb 21
There in the field she came to me,
The last of the silver honeybees.
I could see the years worn in her face,
Watercolor eyes and tear glass stained.

She held the ache behind her eyes,
So young to have her throat closed tight.
Poor girl, an orphan, with ribs of steel
Bone cage laced too tight to feel.

Then came the lonesome cosmonaut,
Betwixt the stars, those years he lost;
A nomad’s tale, nor here nor there
Too high up to come down for air.

Celestial darlings, they go round and round,
Dysphoric we hasten the final burnout:
From birth to evanesce, such hedons expire
Would love rot my teeth for afflictions less dire?

Last came the poet, out from the gloam
******* on pennies, and ink soaked through bones.
She gathered her strength and fell from the sky
While friends in high places twinkled goodbye.
Darcy Lynn Jan 2019
I am sinking to
Where the moon drips
From frosted lips, frothing with
Syrupy sweet lies
One sticky spoonful at a time
Darcy Lynn Aug 2018
My brain is a graveyard
Where cobwebs collect
Through gyri and sulci
The harvestmen tread

The widows float down
Painted black and red
Armed with venom
And needle and thread

They sing as they spin
A chanty of doubt
Stuffing my skull
Til ghosts leak out

And when they have
All had their say
And my spine grows centipede legs
And crawls away

I sink sink sink
Into the ground
And even the arachnids
Cannot draw me out.
Darcy Lynn Aug 2018
Yellow lit talks
Beside a borrowed car
Empty parking lot
Underneath the stars

Three feet apart
We mindlessly converse
About nothing and everything
Prolix and terse

You render me breathless
My ghost lungs deflate
You exhale the stars
And I respirate

I am so tense
With minutes too swift
Too late; you’re gone
My hands must have slipped
Darcy Lynn Aug 2018
Oh, you sorry fool
You've cut your fingers
Plucking on heartstrings again.
When will you learn?
Souls like his
Were not meant for
Souls like yours.
He will live his whole entire life
And not once
Think twice about the color of your eyes.
Next page