That Tattoo Girl

Because God is Woman

I don’t know what else to do—
I don’t have the right education or
experience to make a difference
I don’t have the connections
to give me that edge and
I have no money to fly
across the world to have that say
but I do have this keyboard
and I have this poem
and I have at least
your eyes

I read about a woman in Ethiopia recently
Aberash Haile
and the husband of ten years
though recently divorced
seemed to have remained friends they all said
until the night it happened

the night he took a sharp object and stabbed out her eyes

I’ve read about a lot of women in Ethiopia
and elsewhere
they sew some of them up you know
and sometimes they even just cut it off

It all kind of makes me wonder
. . . why do they hate us so much?

I remember back in college
Lorena Bobbit
A professor of mine in women studies called her a hero—
(like many women did)
hailing Lorena’s tossing out the severed penis through the window

As us witnessing one of the most, if not THE MOST profound phenomenological displays of deconstructionism ever to have been made an example of in our post-structuralist world.

That somehow Lorena had rejected the form,
the hierarchy
the hegemonic system we all thought was inescapable

. . .just by using a kitchen knife and an open window.

I had thought maybe she just didn’t want
to be driving around with a half-severed
penis in her hand
but I needed an “A”
so I nodded and roared on and on
and swore to watch Thelma and Louise over and over again
and took another Women Studies class the next semester
just to make sure
they all knew

But as I read on,

“Kenya is the latest African country to ban female genital mutilation . . .”
I wonder BAN?
and why aren’t there more
severed penises
lying littered across reaped fields
with those ugly nut sacks pierced straight through
blood oozing as they hang helpless upon splintered fence posts
looking as useless as caught plastic bags in barren trees

Why aren’t there?
And then I recall
the face of my mother

as she stood leaning over the kitchen sink
weeping quietly to herself,
there’s nothing but to do but the dishes . . .

and for Aberash Haile
there’s nothing but to do either
but to dwell in her new found blindness

you know
they even sometimes do
sew us up.