Ranney Campbell

Us

You.
Woman. 
You made the word a curse word. 
I could never say it.
As a girl.
Woman.
It sounded dirty out of my mouth.
Woman.
Made my lips feel soft and round.
Woman.
Like womb.
Like pornography.
Spread open.
Never could say it without feeling nauseous.
Without my lips numbing feeling like slow motion.
Compromise.

You.
Woman.
With your side bends.
Your loud sharp dresses stiff.
Your desperation.
Woman.
Smelling like flowers.
From some garden we never been in.
Pink lipstick.
Yellow curlers.
Rouged cheeks.
Red phony rounded.
Coquettishness.
Painted chalkboard scraping fingernails.
Smiling wide dead.
Dulling eyes to seem stupid for them.
Using that voice that didn't belong to you.
Sweet faltered quiet.
For men not my father.
The others.
You slut.

slut
i could always say that word
once my father said it
when you dragged me out of bed
in my long cotton nightgown
creamy white flowered dusting the floor
sat me rubbing my eyes
made me stay 'til midnight
with your face tight knotted
at the kitchen table to hear the drunken rant
to prove to me that he was not my hero
when he turned and told me
red-eyed and wobbling
i would grow up
to be a slut
just like my mother
before i knew what that word meant

Not like you. 
Woman.

Grown.
Done.
It is dirty.
That word.
I make it.
I take it.
Back bending.
Vamping flattery.
Front bending.
Before them.
Assaulting red lips with heat.
Not a bought stick.
Buff shine.
Nails digging.
Low toned groaning.
Bare skinned.
Witted.
Loose haired.
Clothes on the floor.
Leave them.
Dazzled as they lay.
Lay them down.
Climb on them.
That will have me.
Take them in.
Me.

 

Ranney Campbell is from Saint Louis, Missouri and now lives in Riverside California.