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by Daria Halprin

If your body could speak

Tilt forward, into it
Nope, back out and tilt

She doesn’t quite know what she wants
To thrust forward or tilt back
Into it or out of it?

Perhaps rotate
Rotating around all of these beautiful things
The ovaries and clitoris and vagina and seeds and
The born children and the lost children and the lovers ill advised and well taken

Rotating round round  - Her private ecstasy is this:
To throw off every piece of clothing that never fit her in the first place.
The first place is in her pelvis mother- hood what a neighborhood that is!

She cries, I wanna run through the house smelling the hidden in the folds fragrance of who I really am Or always wanted to be if I hadn’t been so damn scared.

Should’a been sacred,
was she too damn scared or too damn scarred?
What was the dance those pink lips really wanted?
Tilt forward or tilt back?

If only she hadn’t consented so often
no boundaries or just no plain common sense
When she should have pulled herself back from the edge and all those free falling adventurous leaps.

Now, with the time left, she wants to give birth to something entirely new,
This men  o pause  all body of hers
She still longs for new life new love fresh starts something mysterious

The solid cradle of pelvis
Coffin like some days
And on others the only home she has.

Stay as fluid and silky as you can baby, pink lips and translucent white bones!
You would be a Georgia O’Keefe landscape if you could, all emptied out and waiting for the coyote to lick your hip joint.

Run Jump fly off into it, I dare you! Leap off the bridge now, barefoot and naked.
Maybe you’ll land on a cowboy and do some kind of wild sacroiliac joint dance!
Sacrum, now there’s a sacred bone.

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