Out of the Birdcage


During those wild, life-changing, protest days
when bras were being flung into bonfires
hair grown defiantly from armpit and leg, 
bodies reclaimed from girdles, June Cleaver clones 
and Betty Crocker wanabees,
we held our new consciousness raising group.

Vaginas, our first topic.

Vagina--a word used only by our white-coated GYN's
or grim-faced men writing scholarly articles, aliased
by most other men into epitaphs of  derision--
he's pussy whipped,
                        gimme me some pussy,
                                  gonna find me some pussy,
                                                           she's a real cunt!
We gathered to reclaim the real name for that hidden tunnel
into our rediscovered femininity.

Not dirty.
Not the sum of our whole.
Not a hurled insult.

When I returned home, my lover lay hard and cold
on his side of the bed, not speaking and terrified
I would leave him, fly free from my cage
into a different sexual reality that would never again
include him in quite the same way.

Pris Campbell

Mipo Digital 2007

Photo found  HERE

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