Caressing Et Cetera


When I lean
I feel full
Sacks of flour
have felt this way

This warm line of flesh—
that is me
can be pleasing (I guess)(I guess)
at certain

I am creased with pink
And creased in the places
I attempt to hold myself in

Caressing et cetera
Et cetera
Et cetera

A song is massaged from my flesh
A soft song; about
yearning to be free

When I grow old
with wrinkles of another
I shall hover:
How soft I will be.

-Gwen Freudenheim, Contributor 

9 February 2017 Editor’s Note: We have edited this piece at the author’s request to reflect that the original line “A song is massaged from my flesh/ A slave song; about/ yearning to be free” is inappropriate and appropriative given the author’s positionality as a white woman.
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