14226, A love poem for your bones Posted by paperdollpoet, Thu Mar-03-05 05:38 PM
*for Saartjie Saartman/Hottentot Venus
london never wrote a poem for you because john keats couldn't find the words to fit around your hips and the blue in london's eyes made them blind in the sun that you were created from that’s why they couldn't see the sonnet that god scribbled on the small of your back so they stared and they giggled while sewing corsets around their shapeless lives and 'round their shapeless wives men dreamt of sliding down the slope of your breasts landing in the nook that separated you from normality with hopes that your musical tongue would teach them how to dance
they named you venus for a reason
despite what they have been teaching in universities and women magazines their daughters still manage to nip and tuck the truth you were their prototype and they're still trying to figure out a way to clone your bones into their genes perfectly because they know you were the first super model your body was made an art museum by france way before they fell in love with the sweat on joesphine baker’s thighs or the curve of nina simone's lips when she sang it was you that they held on to even after death they made your soul their home but they never wrote a poem because they were too busy searching for the meaning of life inside of you men hid their secret confessions lodged between your cervix and uterus because your body was proof that god existed
and you became their messenger
carrying their burdens until you became so heavy that you drowned in their sins forgetting to leave the correct pronunciation of your name behind so that we, your descendants with hips just as wide and lovely could honor you properly
as your memory rest back in the cradle of dark soil i am whispering this poem towards the east hoping that you can hear me
you are beautiful.
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