Two young mothers.
Nisansala broke her virginity at 25
With the man she crowned her king bee,
She took him inside her warm throbbing hive walls,
He buzzed with animal excitement,
She & he serenaded away,
Foreplayed their way
To on top, underneath, on top, underneath each other
Spinning into a new orbit above the Earth’s atmosphere.
She stained the moon yellow with her sweet sticky juices,
That’s why it’s called a honeymoon.
Nicola’s virginity was broken at 16
By the man her parents wanted as her lawful wedded,
Slicking the bedsheets crimson
As he appointed himself to missionary,
She froze in position,
He charged in with red flag waving,
She mutilated the alarm bells in her head.
Two minutes later
She raised the blood-white flag to signal surrender.
It wasn’t rape because he didn’t consent either,
Fulfilling God’s command to go forth and multiply
Is a necessary evil
– he reminds her to remind herself.
When Nisansala had her daughter
She taught her to know her place –
Not just the kitchen but the whole house,
Not just the house but the whole planet,
Not just the planet but the whole universe
– And beyond if it couldn’t house her greatness.
Her son’s masculinity was only under threat
When his classmates called him and his sister freaks.
He thought it common sense that
Girls had brains,
Boys had beauty,
Women were rational
And men were emotional!
They both had a strong drive
So Nisansala nitro fuelled their mental engines,
Smashed out red & amber so the lights would stay green
To turn misogyny into roadkill
On the race to a sexually equal future.
When Nicola looked at her daughter for the first time
She saw Genesis on replay,
A soul as crooked as a rib sending humanity straight to Hell.
She prayed for permission to sacrifice her only begotten son
So that all may be saved
Yet her Lord had said “Thou shalt not kill”
So maternity was Nicola’s cross to bear.
To other wives and mothers she was a martyr,
To her children’s emotional needs, she was just a breathing corpse.
The daughter was taught to quarantine herself from the contagion of a man’s touch
Yet submit to The Father’s will when he breached her.
Each day the son failed to find his mother’s soul
He scored a new line onto his wrists
And when there were too many failed attempts to keep score of
He thought it’s time to aim a bit higher.
One Tawny Stranger 