If you don’t “mind” the “V” word, read on. But remember, I warned you. Also, to anyone who objects, please remember: COPYING, XEROXING, AND DISTRIBUTING MY WORK IS A COPYRIGHT VIOLATION. YOU MAY GO TO JAIL. (I have had mean “stalkers” lately.)
OK, the snarky scolding is out of the way. Fasten your seatbelts!
Me & V
I am a woman.
Each morning I
sit on my vagina and drink coffee.
Every day is
Take Your Vagina To Work Day.
“Betty” watches
while I pee and used to
participate in my monthlies.
She knows my husband. Well.
Me and my vagina have been
through thick and…
not-so-thick.
I’ve taken care of her for years.
In return, she opened wide and
helped deliver my baby girl.
Me and my vagina: BFFs.
So, Congress, don’t tread on us.
Together, we are a formidable foe.
Just ask my ex.
© 2014 Poetry and Artwork by Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
First, a disclaimer: Betty is not really my BFF. My friend John in Philadelphia is. Somehow, I know that this particular order in the greater scheme of things will bring him comfort… and a laugh.
When ABC Wednesday asked for poems about the letter V… well, ’nuff said!! Peace and reproductive rights for all, unless you want to outlaw Viagra and submit tests on fathers before termination of pregnancies, Amy
Life Cycling
First come the three little words
Then, “I’ll love you ‘til I die”
Vows to share a lifetime as one
Down the aisle into Real Street
Change begins to take hold
She feels faint over nothing
After a march to the drug store, she
Places calls to her doctor and OB
Family planning worked, a baby is on the way
To create life within is a special calling
She doesn’t mind the stringy stretch marks
Nor the RR train to La Maze classes
in order to master the art of patience and breath
while bringing new life into the light
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
I remember being pregnant with Riley. Ask women who’s ever been pregnant, and they’ll probably say they felt like the most powerful person in the world. Submerged, cradled within, this growing child… I am getting misty because my girlfriend and bandmate Karen’s daughter Amanda is in hospital just now, dilating and all that good stuff.
Riley is the best thing I ever did. Not just giving birth, but raising her, watching her tap out complicated drumbeats from the age of four; seeing her first pictures – and for years to come, finding manga characters scribbled on the margins of homework. Startlingly smart, easy to be with, and wicked talented… she’s a force to be reckoned with, and, as you can see by this photo shoot (body painting, not tattoos), she’s gorgeous. Love you, Riles. Mom
For the Sunday Whirl, the wordle can be found HERE. Check out the other poets as well! Peace and soda crackers for the first trimester (!), Amy
THE JOURNEY
Wriggled, writhed headfirst
down a one-way tunnel
Saw a pinpoint of light
Of hope
Squeezed, squished
through the door
into the light
Boogermeister suction
But finally
bundled, bawling
Soothed by mama’s waiting breast
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Trifecta wanted exactly 33 words about “new beginnings.” Can’t think of one better for my daughter, nor for myself. The journey continues – she in California, artist on fire; me in the chill of Wisconsin, warmth all in my heart.
We always called the blue suction bulb the “Boogermeister.” A family thing, like “melty and weird” and “migdo pigdo.” Ah, yes, my family keeps me sane! Peace, Amy
Labor Room Blues (in the key of AARGH!)
Would that my trap door’d been
strung with elastic
My labor would have been
oh, so easy – less drastic
If I am blessed with one
more babe, I’m sure I’ll
scream, “Cancel the Gatorade!
Let’s try epidural!”
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Labor, Cancel, Elastic
Also at Poets United, prompt: Strings
And Riley, no hard feelings! But if you think you’re getting a baby sister or brother at my age, think again, ha ha.
Poetic Bloomings, scene of my scandalously honest interview with the ever-gracious Marie Elena last week, asked for poems on the theme, “The harvest I reap.” Enjoy, and peace to all, Amy
SEEDS
Years upon years
of mistakes and teary-eyed
talks over black coffee or
beer from the bottle,
swearing the air blue.
Dancing at Fiesta…
I don’t really dance
but if I smile and
show a little leg, todo esta bien.
Staring blankly out the window
in a small town
rain punishing my petunias
(parched, anyway),
wondering if the library
has any books I haven’t read yet.
Watching the baby emerge
from within Massive Me;
everyone is crying. She
latches on. I call her Little Bee.
Seeing Carnegie Hall for the first time…
from the stage at sound check.
Teaching fellow Psych Ward inmates
how to practice yoga
instead of watching
the big-ass TV all day.
All these memories are stored
in a quiet room within.
Open the door, grab a random handful.
Toss onto the fertile loam and see them sprout.
I gather the ripest fruits and
squeeze ink from their juices.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Outstanding WHAT?
Why am I limping around a hospital
in a gown open to show the whole world my ass
with a belly as big as a piñata
screaming “ICE CHIIIIIPS!!”?
Ah yes, the joys of birthing
in 98-degree September.
The baby will be born on Labor Day,
an ironic detail…
That’s what I get for
outstanding ovulation!
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
(For Sunday Scribblings, variation on “Standing Ovation,” also posted at Poets United.)
Sharp Little Pencil 