8 July 2009 at 11:41pm
is my full smile, my full figure, my full plate, my red blood, my brown skin, my warm, warm, warm, deep loving.
The English Woman
is my narrow waist, my round abdomen, my small lip, my tall words, my kind smile, my measured portions, my courage, my unbending loyalty.
The Irish Woman
is my hell with it, my raucous laughter, my naughty humor, my dukes up for my family, my deft slip-you-a-drink or a fiver because you don't know you need it.
The French Woman
is my extravagant knowing I am everything I ever want to be and nothing like you, my signature my controlled savagery, my controlled sensuality, my scent the imagined splendor of every passionate bouquet that is the old woman I am becoming, more beautiful and longed for and loved and lived to be the entire self I am, this French Woman I am now.
The American Woman
is my discontent, speaking to herself the appreciation she knows must be greater than an election every four years, and a parting of ways, a parting of seas.
The African Woman
is my artist wandering, listening toward a society that is tumult, is wild pets, narrow escapes, impossible size and browns and greens and terrific pictures, my precocious eavesdropping to stories I do not want to escape they are so magnetic.
The English Woman
is back, plumping pillows while I type, and interjecting, "Who is your Chinese Woman, your Norwegian Woman, your German Woman? Who is your Canadian Woman? Yes. I am not all world, my blood the rain, but I know that it rains everywhere, so I will know everywhere soon enough.