Snow White Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Laughter, pleasure, malice, and the pursuit of adult fun

A Poem for Those Who Long to Be Loved

Do you keep checking in to see if you are loved?

Remind me how I hate this part,
this checking in to see if I am loved.

Tell me about time wasted,
about how lives
through centuries
have been lost
because of shadowed afternoons
turning into long-dark evenings
the sneaking heart devouring
as if eating cake
right from the box.

Put an elbow to my ribs,
hiss in my ear,
drive spiked heels into my foot,
poke a stick into my spine.
(Pain is better.)
Just don't allow me to sit, useless,
avoiding eye contact with the smirking clock.

Pull me away from the mailbox

the screen

the window

the telephone.


It gives me pictures of myself
meaner than an ugly mirror.
And less forgiving.

Remind me:
life goes on
whether I wait
or run to class.
That class is
what I am supposed
to do.
And what I
am supposed
to have.

Remind me that a woman
weeping because no call has come
is who I left home
to leave behind.

Find a Therapist

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Yell to me that men despise
women who wait,
chasing the one flying
to class, to her own work, away.

Remind me: a cat's eyes follow the
object in motion and
ignore the lap that offers stillness
using it instead as a platform from which
to leap.

Tell me.

Again.

 

Gina Barreca, Ph.D., is Professor of English at UConn, and author of It's Not That I'm Bitter: How I Learned to Stop Worrying About Visible Panty Lines and Conquered the World.

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