What Are Big Girls Made Of?- Wedding Poem

The development of a lady:
a lady shouldn’t be manufactured from flesh
of bone and sinew
stomach and breasts, elbows and liver and toe.
She is manufactured like a sports activities sedan.
She is retooled, refitted and redesigned
each decade.
Cecile had been seduction itself in faculty.
She wriggled by means of bars like a satin eel,
her hips and ass promising, her mouth pursed
at the hours of darkness crimson lipstick of need.

She visited in ’68 nonetheless sporting skirts
tight to the knees, darkish crimson lipstick,
whereas I danced by means of Manhattan in mini skirt,
lipstick pale as apricot milk,
hair unfastened as a horse’s mane. Oh pricey,
I assumed in my superiority of the second,
no matter has occurred to poor Cecile?
She was out of trend, out of the sport,
disqualified, disdained, dis-
membered from the membership of need.

Take a look at footage in French trend
magazines of the 18th century:
century of the final word woman
fantasy wrought of silk and corseting.
Paniers carry her hips out three ft
every means, whereas the waist is pinched
and the stomach flattened below wooden.
The breasts are stuffed up and out
provided like apples in a bowl.
The tiny foot is encased in a slipper
by no means meant for strolling.
On high is a grandiose headache:
hair like a museum piece, day by day
ornamented with ribbons, vases,
grottoes, mountains, frigates in full
sail, balloons, baboons, the flowery
of a hairdresser turned unfastened.
The hats have been rococo marriage ceremony desserts
that might dim the Las Vegas strip.
Here’s a girl pressured into form
inflexible exoskeleton torturing flesh:
a lady manufactured from ache.

How superior we are actually: see the fashionable girl
skinny as a blade of scissors.
She runs on a treadmill each morning,
suits herself into machines of weights
and pulleys to heave and grunt,
a picture in her thoughts she will by no means
approximate, a physique of rosy
glass that by no means wrinkles,
by no means grows, by no means fades. She
sits on the desk closing her eyes to meals
hungry, at all times hungry:
a lady manufactured from ache.

A cat or canine approaches one other,
they sniff noses. They sniff asses.
They bristle or lick. They fall
in love as typically as we do,
as passionately. However they fall
in love or lust with furry flesh,
not hoop skirts or push up bras
rib removing or liposuction.
It’s not for male or feminine canines
that poodles are clipped
to topiary hedges.

If solely we might like one another uncooked.
If solely we might love ourselves
like wholesome infants burbling in our arms.
If solely we weren’t programmed and reprogrammed
to wish what’s offered us.
Why ought to we wish to dwell inside adverts?
Why ought to we wish to scourge our softness
to straight strains like a Mondrian portray?
Why ought to we punish one another with scorn
as if to have a big ass
have been worse than being grasping or imply?

When will girls not be compelled
to view their our bodies as science tasks,
gardens to be weeded,
canines to be educated?
When will a lady stop
to be manufactured from ache?

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