A whore of two cities

 

I am a whore.

A whore of two cities .

 

I was a whore there,

not a bar girl

 or go-go girl.

Hips too skinny

breasts  too small.

No, I did my trade

on the streets.

Street meat,

they call it here.

 

After a meal,

meat

potatoes

bread

carrots

cake,

why do I see myself

in my  father’s hut,

on a mat,

slurping from a bowl

licking up the last drop?

Lush green hills do not fill the belly.

 

An easy exchange

I know.

New land

new life

comfort

security

safety,

even affection, yes,

in return for

giving the ’girlfriend experience’,

being the ‘traditional’ wife.

Biddable, beautiful, beddable,

they call it here.

 

Why, then, in this land of plenty

do I see myself running,

always running,

through the hills, back

to my father’s  hut?

His cruel beating

falling

waking

seeing him

crouching by me,

tears in his eyes.

 

I slap my daughter, for wearing

bikinis and skimpy tops,

for revealing

what I so wanted  to keep for myself.

This is the fashion, I am told.

It seems I have a dirty mind.

Once a whore, always a whore.

 

I see her with her father

laugh,

show her  homework,

share her hopes.

I am jealous

then ashamed.

Jealous of my own daughter!

That is shameful, even for a whore!

 

The neighbour smiles

I freeze with fear.

Does he want to deal with me?...

After all, I’m just a whore.

 

My father died.

I did not cry

send money to my mother

write to my sister.

I am a selfish heartless whore!

 

I might cheat

on the side.

I might steal,

I might leave.

What do you expect, of a whore?

 

I read the dictionary.

A whore…..

Someone who sells one’s body

sells sex

sells oneself

one’s abilities

one’s beliefs

in a way which does not deserve respect

for money,  mainly.

 

Biddable, beautiful, beddable;

when memories flash and blind

I scream and harangue.

Just like a whore.

Or,

more often,

I slap down the monsters which are me

deeper into myself

push down the rising vomit

smile

sweetly.

Always the whore!

 

The truth,

the whole truth,

and nothing but the truth.

This land

that land

land of poverty

land of plenty.

Land of whoredom.

Whoreland!

March 19