Classroom of Clit

I learned how to question my body

the same year I learned

my body was meant

for a man.

In the school parking lot

waiting for mom

I whispered the words

Mrs. Clark annunciated

during Family Life class:

celibate

monogamy

marriage

fallopian tubes

vagina

erection

but never ever

the word

Sex.

I learned how to wear a tampon

the same day I learned

that the hairs on my legs

were not attractive

to the boys.

My mother’s stolen razor

sliced up the young skin

on my shins

that night

red streaks matching the blossom

on my Hanes Her Way.

I wore long socks to my knees.

I learned the beauty of woman’s silence

the same day I learned

that my breasts just weren’t

coming in strong

and Alicia’s got the most attention

making her

the most popular girl with the boys.

I slipped two socks in my bra

wadded just so

hoping I’d get their affection

too.

I learned the duty of a wife

as my mother and

the mother down the street

waited patiently

with clasped hands

as the fathers held up time.

That night

I learned to touch myself just so

the walkman radio

crackling with static

telling me stories

of callers

with lustful questions

and I felt wet warmth

between my legs.

I whispered the words

of the radio DJ:

Orgasm

Moan

Finger

Masturbation

Pleasure

Clit

and over and over

the word

Sex.

I learned how to love my body

the same year I learned

that my body was meant

just for me.

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