clench clench clench clench clench clench clench the doctor says I

I have to stop holding my vagina like a fist. I tell him I am a young

woman. I don’t have fists. just accessories. I am pursing: purse,

verb, very, ladylike. e.g: my vagina is pursing like a grandmother’s lips.

stehstehstehstehstehstehsteh- that’s the sound of a tongue sticking-

unsticking from the roof of a happy mouth. that’s satisfaction after a

cup of sweettea that was not a want, but a need. of course, I am not

satisfied. my soft animal and I have not had a good drink in months.

we are parched. I just moved to this cut-stone city. I am hardly ever

recognized. I am hardly ever a guest. no one has had the opportunity

to offer us: a hand, a seat, a photo album, or a glass of something with

or without ice. The doctor says clenching usually follows at trauma’s

heels. did I know/ I was both/ the two god-hands and the babydoll

being/squeezed to its seams? No

nothing ripped. but the jaw does unlock itself and pendulum from

time to time. I ask the orthodontist why my mouth keeps unraveling

and hitting the floor like a cat-cartoon in love. well, because I am, yes,

clenching. ing ing ing ing ing he puts one finger in my mouth,
squeaking and blue, tells me to bite. my jaw is quite strong and this is

not a compliment. the pink doctor throws in a finger too. he notes that

me and Mine are not very hospitable. no “come in”, no “can I take your

coat”, he asks who raised me? I beg him not to tell my grandmother!

He asks for my history. I hand him his history. Claim whoever bled on

the other side of his pink hands.    okay.    well. Mine is too tight and

have I heard of vaginal physical therapy? it’s a little uncomfortable lots

of single, plastic fingers, and deep breaths, we can call it: a last resort

I put on my underwear. I rinse out my mouth. I pay my deductible. I

Leave the building and stay in the lot. in my car, I imagine myself as an

open palm. see each finger of my body undo and soften until I am as

exposed as a peonie at the top of May. I imagine my therapist or the

youtube yoga instructor in the passenger. next to me. taking my

bloomed palms and placing one on my heart, one on my stomach,

reminding me how to breathe so that my belly stretches into a bowl. I

do this until I am calm enough to be bored with the ways boys have

wound and hardened me. I type. Tweet. “doctor said my pussy too

tight! And my jaw?? very powerful!”

Send.