Sonya Sones
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Sonya Sones What My Mother Doesn't Know To Be Perfectly Honest Facebook Sonya Sones Twitter Sonya Sones Sonya Sones Pinterest Instagram Sonya Sones Tumblr page
some poems from The Hunchback of Neiman Marcus
What's this book about?
I learn that pumpkin pie
and lavender
are aphrodisiacs.
I learn that the French term for crabs
is papillons d’amour
butterflies of love.
I learn that the average
speed of ejaculation
is twenty-eight miles per hour.
And I’m just about
to learn the identity
of “the next awesome sex prop”
the magazine says
is probably in my purse!)
much to my chagrin,
the nurse calls me in.
Eighteen years ago, when Dr. Stone
squirted the icy gel across my stomach,
then turned to examine my womb
on the pulsating screen
and I saw Samantha for the first time,
saw her heart fluttering like a tiny fan
with the effort of pumping that blood,
my blood, through her veins,
saw the shimmering beginnings
of the perfect little person
that my body was so effortlessly
I couldn’t have imagined
how I’d feel on this day,
eighteen years later,
when Dr. Stone would squirt that gel again
then turn to examine my ovaries
on the pulsating screen,
and announce so casually,
as if talking about the weather:
“You can stop using your diaphragm now.”
Happy birthday to me
It happens for the first time
on the very day I turn fifty—
a scrim of sweat
cloaks my body,
beading on my upper lip,
misting on my forehead,
gathering in a steaming pool
between my shoulder blades
as if a tiny cup of liquid lightning
in each one of my cells
has just bubbled up, burst ablaze,
and cremated me,
to ashes,
to dust.
Shift Happens
On what day,
at what hour,
at which tell-me-it-ain’t-so moment
did you finally come
to the blow-to-the-solar-plexus realization
that your daughter had switched over
from being so proud of you
that she actually wanted to bring you in
for show-and-tell,
to being so humiliated
by everything you say or do
or even think about doing
that she is
no longer willing
to be seen in public with you?
of course,
you offer to take her shopping.)
The Leaning Tower of me
Samantha and I are cruising
the Neiman Marcus Last Call Sale—
because who can afford
to shop at Neiman’s
when it’s not having a sale?
I’m admiring my daughter
as she glides through the racks—
her back so straight
she looks as if she’s balancing
a rare book on her head.
I glance in a mirror at my own posture
and am appalled at how
my head’s jutting forward,
as if it’s trying to win a race
with the rest of my body.
I’m stunned by the gorilla-esque curve
my spine seems to have taken on,
as though determined to prove
once and for all
that evolution really did happen.
I snap my shoulders back
and pull myself up,
arrow straight,
like a child being measured
against a wall.
Then, a few minutes later,
while we’re browsing through
a mountain range of marked-down panties,
I see an old woman sifting through
the thongs on the other side of the table—
the hump
on her back
so enormous
she resembles
a camel.
She looks up suddenly
and catches me staring.
I avert my eyes
and am confronted with my reflection
in yet another mirror—
which is when
I notice that my
frighteningly King-Kongish posture
has snuck right back up
on me...
Oh no!
Is this how
it all began for her?
Twenty years from now, am I going to be
the hunchback of Neiman Marcus?
To the one-pound bag of Oreos I just bought
It’s so sad
to think
that just moments
from now
will be gone
and I’ll
be a cow.
Copyright 2004-. Sonya Sones. All rights reserved.