CarrollBlog 12.26

LOOKING BACK

by

Lucille Lang Day

What does it matter

if I wore my skirt short,

my hair stacked high,

my eyeliner black and thick,

if my long earrings jangled

when I ran

and I wore a padded bra

under my gold lamée blouse

or no bra at all

under a sheer one?

When I danced naked in my apartment

or stripped on a mountain

and made love amid ferns and conifers,

I was like all

the other animals.

And I say

the body is a golden chalice

filled with guts

and menstrual blood.

Every living cell is holy,

radiant as a stained-glass window

with sunlight streaming through.

So what does it matter

how many men wanted me?

What does it matter

if I had my way?