On hearing in middle school that a pussy smells like fish—
How I wish I’d said, yes I’m a saline marinade. We all are. My pussy is an avalanche
of salt. Tastes all mermaidlike & alkaline. Brine flavored. I’m savory sodium chloride.
Oceanic to the tongue. Relish the zest of my fresh, brackish flesh, I’m all surf water’s
savory smack. I can sink you with my sapidity. Hook & net. Bait you with my relished
tang. My composition is compulsory, a soluble stimulus that your 7th grade self
can’t contain. You think you’re so cute. With what you imagine to be slant/put-down
punishment. How you lopped our sexuality down with one slight, sneering snub.
Suppression in the form of snide. How even then I imagined it compliment. Knowing
I’d find someone to long for my pungent delectability. Went to sleep secure that either way,
I loved the savorous, scrumptious sea that lived inside of me.
From Blooming Fiascoes by Ellen Hagan. Published with permission of TriQuarterly Books, an imprint of Northwestern University Press. All rights reserved.