For years I was wearing her, she was cotton, her neck a blue V for her blue vagina that birthed 6 babies. She had a vanilla string around her waist even though she was hooker-red at heart, like me. I wore her for two years, along with a sister dress of deep cherry. When I went to meet her the first time at Catholic Social Services, I wore the
cherry and she wore the blue vagina. We thought that genetics had made us go to Joseph P. Hornes to buy the V, but decided we both lived near the bloodless dept. store. After that, I took her off, stopped wearing her, didn’t want her touching my body anymore. I prefer to think it’s all animal— the way the V opens my neck to predators, the way she scissored her legs open to my father’s cock. The way the dress hugs my hips then falls, just like she said she hugged me once— before falling away, switching me out for sale.
The Switching/Yard,
University of Pittsburgh Press, 2013
©
Copyright, Jan Beatty. |