Wendy

Saying nothing
we went to bed, an evening
spent by the TV, videos
pop music macaroni & cheese

I began as always
her pubic hair plastic like
cheap licorice that bent unwilling
under my hand. Her vulva
bit my fingers--

a rubber band that snapped
when I tried to enter.
I stifled my sigh.

The ocean breeze found the window
entered the room to finger my temples
then cupped my body with thick thighs
and drew my eyes to the moon.

I did not want her
a blow-up doll with frizz-blonde hair
Spirograph eyes and breath like the steam
from tonight's noodles leaking
from her adolescent lips.

All I wanted for myself
for her
was a piece of the moon caught
between her legs like my face in the wind
quivering with laughter tears
anything
but the closed cavern of her silence.

©1987 Julie Murphy

Published in Conditions Fourteen.

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