A light-hearted poem from my second collection, IN BETWEEN ANGELS AND ANIMALS, on International Womens Day
JOWL
What shall I do with this body they gave me,
so much my
own, so intimate with me? – Osip Mandelstam
Your lipstick
meanders
outside the
line of your thinning lips.
You leave the
house in your current state,
abandon your
eyeliner flick;
your
come-to-bed eyes
never-got-to-bed
eyes.
Everyone knows
a woman must
maintain her
youthful good looks.
‘Muscle has
memory’, you tell yourself,
panting on the
treadmill,
willing your
thighs to remember
they were
flagrantly slimmer.
Are you two
dress sizes
from happiness?
At least you
feel no pressure
to schedule a
vajazzle.
Everyone knows
a woman must
maintain her
youthful good looks.
You blend
foundation into
sagging
contours of your face,
wondering when
exactly
your pores
became craters.
Blusher is your
best friend
now you’re
blanched like a
bunch of
asparagus spears.
Everyone knows
a woman must
maintain her
youthful good looks.
Will you ever
reclaim that alchemy
when your dress
expressed you perfectly?
Your jokes were
funnier, your hair glossier:
your tresses billowed
– now they’re flyaway.
You moved with élan on the dancefloor,
trod lightly,
didn’t spill gravy.
Everyone knows
a woman must
maintain her
youthful good looks.
You will grow
old gracefully
except grace is
a myth;
the world
ignores women
who slide into
invisibility.
They already
start to cut you off,
in pre-emptive
glances at a watch.
So pop open the
serum and primer,
remember to
drink ten gallons of water,
learn how to be
soignée
or choose opacity.
Because
everyone knows a woman must
maintain her
youthful good looks.
You who were
always diffident
about the male
gaze,
who never
suspected those catcalls
were directed
at you, can enjoy
keeping your thoughts intact;
no worries
about being leered at,
nurture what is
hidden,
focus on
seeing anew.
Screw you.
© Emily Cullen
Screw you.
© Emily Cullen
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| 'Girl in Mirror', Roy Lichtenstein, 1964 |
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