Manic Pixie Dream Cervix
By Sarah Cook
but she is like a glass woman
one ingredient, transparent
a hunter of too bad
treasure
*
why can’t she like sex
she likes sex too much
one or the other:
all women are manic
& at some point
miniature
*
took notes on
my abortion
appointment:
June 3rd at 9am
driver
2-3 hrs
light food before, stay hydrated
*
she gets off
by asking questions
about sex her doe-
eyes her flatness
an empowered line
straight and linear
her hair is linear her
chest is linear her
teeth are so lined up
*
she rejects men before
they reject her hopefully
she is Mary M. crying
on the front porch flat
& better off as a
painting but she’s never
quite finished &
never quite real
*
i didn’t ask for
this but am full of
questions like why wouldn’t
i want to be different
now
?
*
absent & ignoring
her own life as
she builds walls around
peripheral obstacles
tiny simmering houses
hot words & short hairs
the back of her neck
*
she is a tiny
house she is a tiny
lie flat chest flat face
we’ve all slid down
a similar boring surface but
she lives on the island of
self-doubt the shortest
landslide the short fat house
small billowing furniture she
sits still just long enough
to feign her own house-
warming to shut the
cute door behind her
*
in her natural setting
she is all disfigurement
& all space i learned
about space by feeling my
inside organs through
the outside & she
is the so safe moment
between effort & sweat
___________________________
Sarah Cook is a poet and care-worker from Oregon. She appreciates writing that is interdisciplinary, poems that are spaces for still thinking through, and bodies that move in and out of context (all of us). She has written for Gaga Stigmata and has an essay included in the upcoming anthology, Electric Gurlesque. Excerpts from her manuscript, Notes on the post-body, have been published in Illuminati Girl Gang, Gesture Literary Journal, and N/A. She is an assistant reviews & interviews editor for Horse Less Press.
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