Morphing, or How I Become Geraldine
Buffarilla, you say, fat slob, Twinkie grubber. You point
at Geraldine, who picks flowers in the yard next door. Call her
retarded, crazy. Her eyes bulge, you add, and she's missing
teeth. She's human, I respond, has feelings, like we do.
You point out other women, as we drive toward the gym.
The ugly ones, the stupid ones. The ones with buck teeth.
The acned, bow-legged and knock-kneed ones. I cradle
their feelings, and mine. Every word slaps the face of my own
imperfections. Roaring past a truck with a sign: Wide Load,
you point at me, laughing. By the time we arrive, I'm so fat,
crazy and stupid I can't get out. I'm wedged in the seat,
and only the jaws of life can save me.
this poem was published in the 2003 Women Artists Datebook
I post it in reference to the Not Jennies Blog
*And I'm Not Jenny by Tara Rebele *http://notjenny.blogspot.com/
see more of my poems, artwork and photography at http://maryspoetry.bravehost.com