{"id":361,"date":"2018-04-06T00:49:38","date_gmt":"2018-04-06T00:49:38","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.writehanded.org\/poetry\/?p=361"},"modified":"2018-04-06T00:49:38","modified_gmt":"2018-04-06T00:49:38","slug":"throwback-dear-dominique","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/2018\/04\/06\/throwback-dear-dominique\/","title":{"rendered":"Throwback: Dear Dominique"},"content":{"rendered":"

I’d forgotten I had this poem, which I wrote at the IIMML a couple of years ago, published by The Spinoff<\/a>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Dear Dominique<\/b><\/p>\n

\u201cI was having sex with my girlfriend when she started her period. I dumped that bitch immediately.\u201d \u00a0\u2013\u00a0<\/i>tweet<\/p>\n

Dear nameless dummy on Twitter: You\u2019re the reason my daughter cried funeral tears when she started her period. The sudden grief all young girls feel after the matriculation from childhood, and the induction into a reality that they don\u2019t have to negotiate, you and your disdain for what a woman\u2019s body can do. Herein begins an anatomy lesson infused with feminist politics because I hate you. \u2013\u00a0<\/i>The Period Poem, Dominique Christina<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

We are taught to be embarrassed by blood, by the dark earth smell of it, by the stains on the sheets and cotton underwear, by the moment we have to tell, by the pain that chases us from the classroom. \u00a0We are taught to whisper if we are caught off-guard, if we need help, as if it were some hideous wound, some dreadful contagious disease that must be contained at all costs and all very\u00a0very quietly<\/i>.<\/p>\n

A few weeks ago, I became wounded in the night. Unaware of my horrifying circumstance I answered the door and stood bloody-thighed before a tight faced courier. If he thought I was dying he didn\u2019t say.<\/p>\n

A few weeks ago, a woman ran a marathon while free bleeding. She ran the whole thing with her blood on her body and world watched. The world watched. The world said it was disgusting.<\/p>\n

There is a war inside my pelvis. Inside my abdomen, inside my uterus, there is a war. \u201cYour fertility will be lower, of course,\u201d says the doctor, not looking at me. \u201cYou\u2019ll want to start trying soon.\u201d He doesn\u2019t add I\u2019m almost thirty, but I can see he\u2019s thinking it. He recommends baths for back pain.<\/p>\n

The hot tap drips slowly into the pinkened water. My body weeps vacancy. When I stand, my skin is slick and reflective.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just don\u2019t trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn\u2019t die.\u201d<\/p>\n

I just don\u2019t trust anyone who doesn\u2019t think that\u2019s divine.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I’d forgotten I had this poem, which I wrote at the IIMML a couple of years ago, published by The Spinoff.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[2],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/361"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=361"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/361\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=361"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=361"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=361"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}