Where All The Women Went

The last two women,

As in there are no more,
Festered in three bloody bootprints
In the palest blanket of blue snow.
They repeated to themselves
The propaganda they internalized;
“It’s not bad that we bleed,
Every woman has to do this.
It’s not bad that we bleed,
Every woman has to do this.
It’s not bad that we bleed,
Every woman has to do this.
Through repetition they transformed
Into mythological manifestations

Of their exploitation.

The transwoman

Injecting self medication

Became the three-legged Yeti
Resting her center foot
Ontop of her left,
Crying out for Chomolungma
The goddess mother
We now call Everest.
The mail order bride

Infected with HIV

Became the Mermaid

Carried by the Yeti
Who must have wrapped
Her shimmering sunbleached locks
Around her tiny torso
So that she would not
Freeze to death.
Her pink fish tail,
Her pink fish tail
That cracked through its' scales
Bled like genital lesions
Exposed to the frigid air.

 

“It’s not bad that we bleed

Every woman has to do this.”

 

The Mermaid’s biceps

Pulled her close against
The beast’s furry chest
And the Yeti, wielding

Her mother’s machete,
Skinned a rug out of her right thigh,
Recalling the moments

She was made to feel
Like she wanted only two.
This was the first time that
She bled between her legs.
Noting the frantic velocity with which
Oxygen penetrates nasal cavities,
The Mermaid draped

The mat over her tail.

“It’s not bad that we bleed

Every woman has to do this.”

 

The gravity between

Her crystallized n*****s
And her yeti's soft hair
Accentuated the dropping weight
In the Mermaid's left ribcage.
"Espera, espérate un momento,”
The beast sang to her mermaid
(Who comprehends only Korean
And commands in English
From her regular customers).
The Yeti whispered,
"No es malo que tú sangres.
Todas las mujeres
Tienen que hacer esto."

“It’s not bad that you bleed

Every woman has to do this.”

“No es malo que tú sangres.”

And the Mermaid murmured
“Gijibae. Gijibae. Gijibae.
B***h.”

Perhaps her pulse ceased in
This dying strangers arm?
Perhaps they became best friends,
Flying to warmer worlds?
Perhaps they completely melted red,
And passively seeped into the snow?
Perhaps they turned invisible
And really they're still there?
All that's left are three bloody bootprints
Where they steeped in their wounds
And stood on their pain.

Two hours after their disappearance--
Two hours after the last two women

(The very last two women)

Took their final bows in this

Excruciating ballet of disintegration
Portrayed on the stage of exploitation--
A concerned taxpaying citizen encountered
The burgundy variations frozen in the snow
And contacted authorities.
Policemen crowd around the ichorous hieroglyphics
Like anthropologists would around a tortured culture
Or pedophiles would around Dakota Fanning.

The constellation, Virgo, asks an officer,
"Why would they wait, turning stiff and alone?"
He replies,  “They were told to stay there.”
"Well, why wouldn't they leave

Before they bleeding had started?”
“They would not dare.”
"Why wouldn't someone help them
When they screamed?"
“No one cared.”

“Why isn’t it bad that we bleed?

Does every woman have to do this?”

And the officer makes no reply,
Turning to the investigation

Around three bloody bootprint blueprints

While only virgin constellations seem to wonder,

“Where is place where the last two women went?”

Reviews

[Journey]

This was a very good story. I wanted to close my eyes and see it all. I thought I should be alarmed by the blood, but I felt a strange sense of peace. It was as though I had seen the women before, then I realized that I had. Your words took me to the precogs in Minority report. I think the last two woman also went away to find a place of quite and peace. When they got there they stopped bleeding...that's what I think. Thanks for sharing this.