“I did not know who she was.”
Impress angles and etch, you single –
breasted. Suit and tie
your hands behind your back –
to reality. Full turn, sidestep, break
down.
Confess. Fists through the mirror
shatter wrists, IV bag held closed
your mouth and nose. You prayed
again to die alone, and overdosed.
Cracking — rocking — breaking
sobbing — watching you losing
you. Shake empty, vacant.
“I did not know who she was.”
Part of the lesbian consciousness is an absolute recognition of the erotic within our lives and, taking that a step further, dealing with the erotic not only in sexual terms.
— Audre Lorde
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