I haven’t shared a poem in awhile. This one still needs work, but here is something newish from me.
After seeing an ad reading: “Spray the Bitch Away Aromatherapy Spray/Perfume for PMS Symptoms, Bitch Days, Menopause, and Hot Flashes Frankie & Myrrh”
Dear Bitch
By Amanda Gayle Oliver
The same gifts the wiseman laid at the feet of the Mother, glowing Mary with her halo … the Messiah suckling at her breast. They set them at her feet.
Frankincense and Myrrh has been bottled for you, too. “Spray the Bitch Away” the label reads. The perfect remedy for PMS, “Bitch Days,” Menopause, and hot flashes. Because breathing in the gifts left for the Savior of the world will relieve you of being, being a woman.
Because the symptoms of needing
Bitch spray are the thing you were taught would help you become, become a woman. For 18.50 you can surrender the badges of honor that you wear across your Suffrage sash.
Veil the time of the month when you don’t suck in your stomach or hold your tongue. When the hormones slash your pearl necklace, when they cause you to spill the sweetest tea you’ve concocted yet, and render you powerless to feel sexy in that pure white lingerie that your husband loves so much. Stop feeling the pride that comes with the heavy flow of red, the reassurance that you can release, that egg, and hope for the baby you’ve been trying for now in years.
Breathe in deeply past the spanx slimming your bloat and spray. Spray it into your mouth in case you snap gnashed teeth shut on the hand that feeds you. Spray it on your feet when the fatigue becomes too much to carry to all the places your dreams haven’t dragged you. When hot flashes prevent you from flashing bright like the neon sign of his favorite strip joint. Spill it in his lap. Maybe some will rub off on the next bitch. The one who didn’t vow for better or worse.
Wise men lay gifts at your feet.
Love. Respect. Acceptance. Compassion. Grace.
Trailmix 