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  • Ella Ferrero

To the Conversation I Overheard – DeKalb Ave., Late August – Walking Home

Taken from the Rib

Of a poor man’s Adam I am

Pratt Pussy. I am laughing at Pratt

Pussy. There is nothing wrong with women I just

Want to avenge that original sin/sickness/my own sexual desire

(Women are the disease of

Pureness, we must remind them of this

Unholy unholy). She bit

The apple first I only watched (observed, bit

The part not touched by the flesh, hit the core). The snake

Looked at me with human eyes he laughed, this

Is the woman you love. This is your mother/sister/daughter/love/sex.

I cannot help it (I cannot help myself) around these girls they

Are apples I bite into them, I whistle at them, Ciao baby,

I beg for their names on the subway, I

Am following her home, I am

Grabbing the green ones. I leave when I

Hit the core. It is too bitter, the seeds may

Kill me. I do not know what woman means, I can only

Point at what they give me. Pieces of fruit, their ripeness

Does not matter. They are bags

Of organs and I am hungry and plucking. I call them by their

Stickers. Fuji, Pink Lady, Pussy.

I bit my ears when I heard this

Pratt Pussy. I am a girl touched by older

Men, ignored by dad, whistled at, my body dissected

In boys’ group chats. You say you are a feminist. I

Say that you laughed along. You let your boy

Reduce me to body parts. You let your boy

Define what a woman is, when

I am not sure. I know that she is not

Pussy. I know that men are gifted

Bodies in their own heads to

Fulfill the things they cannot tell mom

About. I know that my body is a language

That you cannot speak, only

Point at the rhythm

And laugh at the accent.


Art by Thaís Curvelo


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