Inspired by Margaret Atwood's 'Helen of Troy Does Counter Dancing'. |
Eve On A Tabletop I don’t think about the women who would hiss and spit on my feet in passing. They trip on their judgment without any help from me. Best to let them gather in quiet pride, meowing and caterwauling in ill-fitting activewear and cutesy slippers. I can move faster than they can. I’m a queen and a dream. I move in grinding glitter and wanton sighs, fluent in guttural growl. My colour is green, and I’m a Scorpio in fishnets; a Venus in mesh. I’m the modern day heteratae, without Venice or its healing power. I’m a high priestess in ballet slippers, a sacred street-psychic in silk. I know what everyone wants, and how much they’ll give to get it. Judge me if you want. I’m not sitting in dried out inferiority, growing stale, breaking into crumbs. At the end of the day, I’m wanted and dreamt about. My power is subtle, and it whispers sweetly to those in wait . I can steal a heart or a wallet and both will satisfy my needs. What you can’t admit is that I’m fulfilling them too. Why stand in tennis shoes, with my hair hanging in oiled-strings, waiting for them to be plucked and combed from my sweaty face? Why go home tired, waiting for the moonlight, knowing that it’s my release from another forgettable day? So many hours which held an unrealized series of breaths that swirled in blue toward the ceiling. I like my skin. I love my roundness. I relish twirling in the pink that is me. I’m being paid to celebrate and gyrate like I mean it. And I do. I can smell the beer and frustration, but I dance to free them from themselves. I’m bringing it all back to the beginning, to the first fire; a simple seamless reality. I’m turning back clocks and speeding ahead of complication. With every clicking step, and every clasp unhitched, I am peeling away the layers of inadequacy and shame. With nothing more than a lingering look, I am creating man. To look as though I’m hungry, when I’m filled up with myself, is tiring. I sway and pop, shimmy and drop, all to keep them, and the music, alive. I have nothing to say to them. I’m not here to discuss the reasons. They’re free to imagine, encouraged to wonder, shielded from disappointment. I know they’d never understand me anyway. Judge me if that be your inclination. With my giving, I’m getting, and I love to tower in my heels. I can’t help but wonder what your austere, pointing finger of genius has ever gotten you? |