lola the human vagina at U.C. Medical School, Tlaltecutli By Starlight in Puerto Escondido, + I Prefer Pussy
lola the human vagina at U.C. Medical School
For 25 years, Lola spread her legs
for the gynecology rotation,
decades of eager interns staring
into her nether regions
like it was virgin territory.
Beginning with the labia,
the Attending physician explained their function,
pulled the lips apart like a flower,
then inserted the speculum,
so they could see all the way in.
Many had not seen a vagina
up close since birth.
Lola assured me she provided a service.
I make sure they see me
as a whole person, she said.
It paid well, and was almost respectable,
good money for a girl with no college.
I make a difference, she said proudly.
Not one of those young doctors
will ever look at a pussy
the same way, again.
I try not to laugh.
I too tell myself lies.
•
First published in DIODE, 2019
•
Tlaltecutli By Starlight in Puerto Escondido
I buy her tequila shooters at the Cafe del Mar. She is exquisite, this woman, named for the Mexican goddess of the earth, her eyes the infinity of a moonless night. We’re alone at the bar. I am the unwilling sacrifice, she cautions. I watch as she swallows the sun. I should heed her warning. Instead, I follow her under the pier, where the wind moans exactly like Tlaltecutli, my lips at her throat, as I tongue my way down her small, brown reticence. Te quiero, she sighs, breath the clove of her cigarettes. That night, under the pier, my hunger fueled by tequila and the musk of her hair, I finger her inside her cut-off jeans, embroidered with crossed bones and skulls, while she clings to me, eyes shut, and we sway to the narco-corrido music blasting from some homeboy’s boombox, carried on the breeze. It is a steamy September night, the sand still warm from the hot sun’s kiss, the beach deserted. Tlaltecutli opens her eyes, two blue-black, smoldering coals. I am the great Tlaltecutli! Her deep-throated wail. Ravish me, plunder me! Tear me apart! She’s crazy drunk, wanton. A vortex, she sucks me in. My mouth finds hers while my fingers bore their way inside her. And when her legs buckle, and her eyes glaze over, I hold her; my fingers impale her until she erupts. Horrified, I watch her body cleave in two. Her arms wrench apart; her agonizing screams pierce the night. I should run, leave her there. But I can’t. My legs are sinking in the sand. Tlaltecutli speaks to me with murder in her mouth. They say nothing will grow until I am moistened with the blood of sacrifice.
She pulls me down, into her madness. It’s where I want to go.
•
First published in DARK INK Anthology 2018 Moon Tide Press
•
I Prefer Pussy (a little city-kitty ditty)
I prefer pussy, as in cat
as in willow
as in chases a rat
as in raised on a pillow.
I prefer pussy, as in riot
as in foots
as in pussycat doll
as in puss-in-boots
I prefer pussy, as a twat
it is not, nor
is it a beaver,
a clam or a cleaver.
I prefer pussy to
nookie or gash,
it isn’t a box,
or a cave or a slash.
I prefer pussy to snapper
or snatch, far better
than taco or
slit or man-catch.
I prefer pussy, ‘though
rosebud’s not bad,
and muffin sounds homey,
and cooch makes me glad.
I prefer pussy, as in whip
as in flower,
as into it you slip -
as in I have the power.
•
First published in KYSO Flash, 2016
Alexis Rhone Fancher is published in Best American Poetry, Rattle, Hobart, Verse Daily, Plume, Cleaver, and elsewhere. She’s authored five collections, most recently The Dead Kid Poems (KYSO Flash, 2019). A multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, Alexis is poetry editor of Cultural Weekly. www.alexisrhonefancher.com