When I was young, I used toWatch behind the curtains As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men. Young men sharp as mustard. See them. Men are always Going somewhere. They knew I was there. Fifteen Years old and starving for them. Under my window, they would pauses, Their shoulders high like the Breasts of a young girl, Jacket tails slapping over Those behinds, Men.
One day they hold you in the Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you Were the last raw egg in the world. Then They tighten up. Just a little. The First squeeze is nice. A quick hug. Soft into your defenselessness. A little More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a Smile that slides around the fear. When the Air disappears, Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly, Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered. It is your juice That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes. When the earth rights itself again, And taste tries to return to the tongue, Your body has slammed shut. Forever. No keys exist.
Then the window draws full upon Your mind. There, just beyond The sway of curtains, men walk. Knowing something. Going someplace. But this time, I will simply Stand and watch.
Maybe.
--- Maya Angelou
This left me completely speechless when I first read it, because I was struck by the details of how the girl is starving for the men outside! Did abit of research and found out that the poet was actually raped when she was a kid, at about 10 years old. So she's actually writing from experience, which is really brave of her because people usually try their darndest to forget about the bad things that happened in their lives. I imagine she had to mentally re-visit the experience in order to weave the memories into such an explicit description of a traumatic encounter. Memories are intangible, yet oh so powerful.
It's a bittersweet poem about growing up and the loss of innocence...like getting pricked by a beautiful rose that beckons at you to pluck it, before you realise that it has thorns. " I especially love the the twist at the end. 'Maybe'. Talk about forgetting the lessons you SHOULD remember. Kudos to the poet for conveying so beautifully the ability of men to stir up an unknown fascination in the minds of girls just dipping their toes into womanhood, and the reminder that there is a heavy price to pay if you bite off more than you can chew.
"...Jacket tails slapping over /Those behinds...." Temptation, temptation....oh, so naughty.
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pearlyn
I thrive on temporary highs.
Neurosis is my middle name.
