|
Paintings by Patricia Whiting
Poetry by Patricia Whiting
|
What the Prince Said to Sleeping Beauty
There was no place in my mother’s vocabulary for the words vulva and vagina. The soft mound and its hidden passageway were untranslatable idioms in a foreign language-- anonymous body parts-- missing from our dolls, whose tiny toes and fingers were carefully defined. So while boys proudly waved their little penises like Independence Day flags, we girls were filled with shame silently waiting for a prince to whisper in our ears your vagina is beautiful as a rose. ________________________________________ Chosen by Guest Editor Denise Duhamel for SoFloPoJo Issue #7 November 2017 |
A Time to Weep
All day a haze obscured the sun. The moon rose with saffron luminosity. Ghost trains rolled through the towns of suburbia, past stations where unclaimed cars remained all day and night and the following days and nights. . . Let the noon whistle blow in the towns of America. Let the hurdy-gurdy man awaken from his slumber. Bid him come and bring his playful monkey. Let calliope bands whistle quavery melodies. Set the starry carousel atwirl. Mount the prancing filly. Reach out and seize the brass ring– never mind it isn’t gold. Put the bits of colored glass back in the kaleidoscope. Later came the rains– in torrents, in sheets, drumming the land for days without cease, as if to wash away the sins of the world. ________________________________________ Published in Chameleon Chimera Vertical Divider
|
Books by Patricia Whiting
