Not Dear Mr
By Elisabeth Horan
Let’s get something straight.
This pussy is not for you.
Pussy is for me and my sisters.
Pussy is something I eat for breakfast lunch and dinner.
You might eat vaginas.
Poor those vaginas.
Pussy is something that sits on my lap and purrs and is
soft and sweet and hunts mice for me.
I suppose you could have a cat.
I hardly bet you would stroke it though and
it might scratch you too like us sisters would do to you.
Pussy is nice.
Pussy is mine.
But I am not a pussy.
There is a pussy in my pants but it’s only for my sisters.
You may not grab me or my sisters by the
pussy or vagina or cunt or beaver or cootch.
You may not.
You have no access.
“Cunt” is what I get to say when I stub my toe.
You may say, “Gosh darn it!”
Beavers are in my pond slapping their big wide tails and
eating trees with their sisters.
Cootch – is for cootchie-cootchie coo – I see you!
A pussy-bow, well I just don’t know.
Let’s rename it penis-testicle tie.
More apt for its inverted upside-down shape and the ridiculousness of it all.
We don’t want you.
Us sisters and all our pussies together, are stronger than you.
And our pussies will sneak up behind you and
ask you if you want to go furniture shopping and then eat you alive.
Sincerely not yours:
The pussy, cunt, beaver, cootch, vagina, et al. Sisterhood.
Elisabeth Horan is an imperfect creature from Vermont advocating for animals, children and those suffering alone and in pain—especially those ostracized by disability and mental illness. She has two sons. She is trying very hard. She teaches ESL and community college liberal arts. Elisabeth is at Moonchild & Occulum & Burning House & Milk & Beans & Blanket Sea and other pro feminist places. Her chapbook Pensacola Girls (with Kristin Garth) was published by Bone & Ink Press, October 2018. She cries a lot, but is learning to smile 🙂 She loves being a poet and a mom. Follow her on Twitter at @ehoranpoet and visit her website: ehoranpoet.com.
Photo credit: Cosimo Roams via a Creative Commons license.
