Nanette Rayman, author of poetry books, Shana Linda Pretty Pretty, Project: Butterflies, Foothills Publishing, two-time Pushcart nominee, Best of the Net 2007, DZANC Best of the Web 2010, winner Glass Woman Prize for prose. Publications include The Worcester Review, Sugar House Review (poem mentioned at newpages.com), Stirring's Steamiest Six, gargoyle, Berkeley Fiction Review, Editor's Pick for prose at Green Silk Journal, chaparral, Pedestal, ditch, Wilderness House Literary Review, decomp, Contemporary American Voices, featured poet at Up the Staircase Quarterly, Rain, Poetry & Disaster Society, Pedestal, DMQ, carte blanche, Oranges & Sardines, sundog , Melusine. Latest: Writing in a Woman’s Voice.
A pitiful dress drifted over a street the color of iron mascara
Petunia pink as candy ripping when reaching a boot
Into which a ruffle dissolved and cried underfoot.
And mosquitoes swarmed the Honey Vanilla body spray left on cotton.
Booking fast, a woman trying to leave the hood where a mob
Had taken her for wearing something immodest.
There are men who dream women as body parts
Part of themselves or their tents where tickets are hoarded
In subdivisions for thighs, breasts, vaginas and legs. That the breast
Under petunia cotton is a threat to your control is not my problem.
Why has the armour of pink unleashed your G-d direction to hurt
Me instead of love me as a complete and holy magnolia?
Officious ones raping milky orbs indifferent and unholy
You fail to see I am Woman, I am Dance. I am Free. Lust’s
Clench is channeled by some men into love and family
A dash of desire for long life. For G-d.
My breasts and my legs are beautifully created by G-d’s
Promise to let me love. Again, you’re off
Your Mount and black orchid serpents won’t get me--
On this street the size of breasts walk if they want to, go
Pray something holy, fly like a new-fangled Othello—in the South
Bronx the freedom is in every woman.
maple bark and mystical karma