Mary Magdalene Walks by Another Construction Site
The words between my legs
are not as dangerous as
the words you spout about them.
The gazes hanging from my chest
are not as controlling as
the eyes you keep in your head.
When my legs move, sway
hip to hip, I am not a metronome
measuring your pulses of desire.
Nor am I just slot B for your tab A,
japanned in wolf whistles and c’mere babys.
I long only for such flesh as my own,
so pray to that eternal male god
that he fold me into his nothingness
or grant me some small machinery of grace.
(first published in Prole)
Jennifer A. McGowan obtained her PhD from the University of Wales. Despite being certified as disabled at age 16, she has published poetry and prose in many magazines and anthologies on both sides of the Atlantic, including The Rialto and The Connecticut Review. Her chapbooks are available from Finishing Line Press, and her first collection is forthcoming from Indigo Dreams Publishing. Her website can be found at www.jenniferamcgowan.com.