Marta Luzim’s Writing The Wave: Matron with Former Self

Vines wrap around her
waist bringing her
to the earth’s core
She is born from lust
And dies from love
Thirsty and hungry
As she crawls across
Dusty roads.
She sees only desert
and neon lights that
blink silent warnings
of ovarian failings
that scream for rest
and release her from all
the lovers that ever
withheld one seed of truth
from her belly
She slithers and slides
knowing seduction is
no longer a trip
to the candy store
and cooking apple pie
and cream potatoes
is no longer going to
feed her children.
Her heart can’t race
to the beat of
I Only Have Eyes For You
but her vagina can still
feel the heat of the night
Her eyes see beyond
20/20, see the hues
that only wolves and
lions can see
She can survive anything
because she ate out of
garbage cans and made
gourmet meals from the
left-over greens and reds
She no longer laughs at
Olive Oil or Betty Boop
But she howls at the wind
and laughs at her crooked face
She is everything and nothing
Oil and water, cotton and lace
A purring motor still racing after
the games are done
She can jump through a
hoop on fire
and pour whiskey and scotch
on her body and never
be scorched.
She is still wet
between her legs.
when everyone else thinks
She has plummeted to her death
because she no longer bleeds
She no longer feels pretty
and will slap your face
for saying pretty
Words that warm her inside
are black and sultry
against the dark moon
and starry skies.
Kiss her and she still
opens her mouth to
show her tongue
and she will lick you dry
She wants to stomp
out war and poverty
Stomp and stomp
until she drops her own
bomb because she has
been left without a voice
to rage her female rage
She will claim her rights
From Nazi pornographers
and lying politicians
who want to own her womb
like a prized tiger head
Oh, she is nobody’s fool
batting her eyelashes
while stroking your neck
and whispering sweet nothings
into your belly button

Place your bet to win
because she ain’t going
She is here to stay
Matron of herself
she is real.
real teeth real skin
real bones
real blood
real eyes
So don’t look away
when she walks
down the street
with her hanging breasts
and her chapped lips
and rough hands
Smelling sweet and seductive
She is your long days gone by
and she will haunt your dreams unless
you make love to her every night

Every night make love to her
Every night.
Every night make love to her
and your soul will be redeemed
and heaven’s door will open wide

and her flesh will rebirth itself
to breathe a million lives
where dark storms and
wanton thieves once
roamed through her bruised veins

Make love to her sweet memory
So the juice of her heart
paints ruby red across her mouth
and flushed cheeks
feel the whisper of silent winds

Fly along with her ebony dreams
And her shimmering thighs
Where lovers swim in her womb
searching for lonely divas
who weep every night
weep every night
weep every night

Her fingers flick
away the tear
reflecting lighthouse beams
one hand over her brow
shading the promise…

Until death does her part
from life and then
only then will she
come alive and
sit by her own
self alone

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