Current Issue/Words/Sharonda

Aimee Herman - "Sharonda"

 

[She enters stage left. Unwrapped vagina. Followed by red-stained-skin-flood-covering-bones-of aged perplex-tions]

[Spotlight on legs with wingspan of three hundred and forty nine degrees

Flexibly bending and distending jaw-shaped-lip-mouth-tongue-taster, girl unlocks firebox full of cum-stained memories. Smells like extra virgin olive oil]

[She speaks]

Once upon a time, in a room full of purple wall painted stars,

glow in the dark ceiling bed of ruffled headboard hitting daily shampooed scalp of

dirty blond hairs heaving curls toward sheets of Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog

in-an-almost-embrace right beside pre-pubescent pussy silenced by underpants of

white cotton elastic flowered pastel penetrator of buy-three-pairs-get-the-fourth-free from retail establishment with blue light special of built in sanitary strip,

I   

touched   

myself

[She continues]

Once upon a time, on a mattress wet from dreams

I learned how to please myself from Alice Walker.

The smell of aged parchment penetrated my fingernails as I slowly turned each page, salivating against new language and secret instructional manual for masturbation.

To me, the color purple is the shade my clitoris becomes when I play with it enough.

[She reminisces]

Page eighty one,   

my face:

wide open pores,   flushed cheeks,   thick eyes of hazel expansion

hands move from tight grasp of book

past space rented out where breasts were meant to be    

once they learned     how to grow

tiny silver dollar pepto-bismal-pink nipples

slams hands against against mosquito bites and  

squeezes

down stomach,  

perfectly flat then 

between thighs,   

pale lean limbs slowly spreading

as  fingers   removed   button   from   closed   positioning,  

pulled   down   metal   zipper,   like unclenched teeth  

pushed past cotton panties, size small back then  no lace

My pretty little tight and tender pussy

hairless and timid,   

quietly preparing to learn its purpose

genitals of glass, shatterproof

sweet-tea-lemon-sliced-underage-seductress

Page eighty two,   

we fuck ourselves together for the very first time

character in book:   Celie and I, 

unaware that fingers can act as stimulators

pushing and    plunging and    touching and   mashing

marinating in our home-made-no-preservatives-added

naturally   flavored   sauce

five finger discount drinks un-dug tunnel of

smooth walls and width of darkness

no need for nightlight as palms push glow of instinct into  

un-raveled-layers-of-un-traveled path

feels like

warm washcloths, texturized heaving

and when I take my hand and smell the juices,

it tastes like

well… it tasted like…like….well…me

ME   tastes like

clotted cream with a dash of apple cider vinegar

sometimes—

ME tastes like

the inside of a kiss, carved out like apple cores

sometimes—

ME tastes like

denim sticking against sweat glands sliced open like peaches, panting

nowadays—

ME tastes like

marachino cherry juice and peanut butter spoonfuls of heaping protein, crunchy—

I’m crunchy—I crunch on me—I suck on me—my fingers—all five of them and—

I like it.

My taste. My color purple. My torn page. My chapter. My flavor.   

I’m full.

Legs unzipped, unbuttoned, unclenched from fully fastened lockbox of secured sexuality.

She comes,   I come

she learns,   I learn

my   first   experience   with   a   girl—

my    first   experience   with    me

Right after Celie,     there was     my pillow

we had safe sex, you know   because I always kept its case on

and at night when I couldn’t fall asleep or found myself thinking about Elizabeth with yellow braided hair and bologna sandwiches she always allowed me bites from

or

my first grade teacher who had calves made of gold and I yearned to bite her just to see   if   she   was    real—

I would remove my pillow from behind my head,

slide it beneath blanket   between legs   and rub:

squeezing thighs    

curving back    

pressing   against   my     color purple—

and      repeating:

squeeze,   curve,   press   repeat

squeeze   curve   press   repeat

SQUEEZE     CURVE    PRESS   REPEAT

the-friction-of-feather-stuffed-cushioned-comfort

arch-of-back-as-skin-converts-into-erection,  

rising-toes-curl-like-perm-ed-limbs

I find religion:

Oh     my     god   ! ! !

[She finds breath. She breathes. She re-enters text]

And then    I met    you:

my  nineteen-dollars-plus-shipping-and-handling

one-size-fits-all-lights-up-when-turned correctly

beautiful,   reliable   vibrator   

you were small—caucasion—with flawless complexion

I   christened    you   Dorothy:

with press on pulsations pushed against me

massaging the tension from my not-quite-fully-formed nerves

you served your purpose for helping   me   find  

my            g     spot

knocking down my brick-vaginal-walls

surgically inserting sensations with your un-circumsized-double-A electric cells

but I grew bigger and your size could not fill me like it used to

I recognized    a need    for something    new

your shape changed like that of a genital for masculine, corrugated

with your pink plastic skin, we engaged in  multiracial masturbation

I   christened   you   Sharonda:

you worked out because you ran fast in me

you worked out because you stayed hard for me

you worked out because you   worked   on   me

and then,

I must have worn you out because you became slow and tired and

I worried you had lost interest

I screamed out your name:

S H A R O N D A!

and then I realized   all you  needed    were  new batteries

and you came back to me           

faster    and louder    and full of life.

I found love inside childhood twin-sized bed

I found love inside banned book of pulitzer-prized-winning-friction

I found love inside plastic underwear drawer beneath unmentionables    (I’m mentioning)

I found love inside rotation of fingers:

first one—then two—back to one—then three—evolving toward four—yes, four,

four—alternate three—two—TWO—one—one—three—ALL—yes—ALL

 

…   …   …   …  

I   found   love   in     side    me.