Pussy
New Orleans, 2009

On the crowded street with its ladders and huddled families
The parade slowly moves by
She’s standing alone when we join her
Although she’s with her two grand-sons
Whom she is raising since their father is in jail
And their mother is crazy
“He may have a third child.  We’re waiting on a blood test.  What kind of woman sleeps with so many men that she doesn’t even know the father of her baby?”
“We have to teach young men here that there’s just some pussy you don’t play with.”

But that we find out later
First she shares about her cancer
A and I love her instantly, she radiates strength
She is love
“I can’t find a partner as no one loves as I do.  I love with my entire being,” she shares
I feel that about her
Oh has this woman given of herself

“I’ve had the cancer since 1992.  I’ve fought and won, but not sure I will this time around.  It’s in my lungs now.” I touch her, rest my hands on her as she speaks
She glows in her strength
“I used to be a cheerleader in high school and college. I was voted most likely to succeed, won beauty contests.  And look at me now.  I’m fat and swollen and so tired.  I don’t think I can do another round of this.”

She completed her medical degree through the Navy
She raised two boys, one of whom “is the worst of what a nigger can be.”
Some of her rough words shock pretty A and I
He and I exchange looks, an occasional touch
At one point, I stand looking up into his face
as if I’m about to kiss him
“Her life is so completely different than ours,”
I whisper under the yells of the crowds
 Did that feel almost like a kiss to him as well?

“You should date this pretty boy,” she says to me as he and I smile at each other
“Look at that smile.  You should thank your parents for the braces.” She laughs
I laugh, “I’m old enough to be his mom.”
“That don’t matter.  Look at his smile,”
and we all laugh

Cancer and sex and beads and death all intermix
On this cool New Orleans night

“I haven’t touched a cigarette in my life.  I’ve done everything right, and here I am, my body so swollen I can’t even wear shoes,” she stands in isotoner slippers on the litter-strewn street

Between breaks in her story, we compete for beads
A and I are playing the “first to 10” game which gives me incentive to wave my arms at the floats and reach into the air to catch flying beads, stuffed animals, coins
He and I laugh, push each other a bit out of the way
A rhythm develops of moving forward and back
Forward into the floats
with their colors and plastic gifts
Back away from the high school
marching bands and dancers

We float forward and back in space
Bounce in intensity between hearing this woman’s tale and competing for beads
She shares more of her life, with little of the slang or shock value
A and I are beautifully present with her
My heart breaks thinking of how much this woman has given and how hard her current reality really is,
so I feed her
I feed her in the way that I’m learning to feed people

When she leaves, A holds me and I lean into him
I feel drained. 

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