Just let me explain to you, sir, how the world works. Being a woman lets you see more of the internal cogs, little bits of biology. Cells that are forming and growing and being tossed like basic molecules, physics, into the solar system. Let me explain to you how to slide a menstrual cup into a vagina so that it catches. Let me explain to you fear, real fear of real places in twilight or day light or dusk or under the light of a microscope. Not too long ago, men wrote more books about the female species than women wrote about anything. So, let’s analyze. Chart and graph like it’s some new and unconquered territory, like you’ve never seen the valley before, never touched a clitoris but somehow, you own it all. Let me tell you about growing. We are all under a greenhouse light in here, in a small terrarium, tertiary to the water and the soil, a product. There are no forests in here. There are no mountains. The peaks of my breasts are not yours to dagger with a flag. Let me explain how I am. Let me explain to you, sir, what I believe in.
Hannah Kludy is a graduate of Northwest Missouri State University and a current MFA student at Creighton University. Her poetry has been published in Missouri’s Best Emerging Poets Anthology, Medium Weight Forks, Algebra of Owls, and 34th Parallel. Her fiction has been published in over a dozen other magazines.
Take a look at Little Glass Vial, also by Hannah Kludy.