Today,

We mustn’t say,

Clitoridectomy.

We skirt around the issue.

Today,

We can’t say,

Infibulation.

No-one knows what it means round here,

Unless you do,

And if you do, you won’t say,

Infibulation.

Are you, ‘Having your bath’?

‘Going to the back of your house’?

Say your weasel words,

Some witchlike female pact,

Of lies.

What’s heroic,

About being Pharaonic?

The Egyptians deny it.

Today, no-one will pick up the:

Knife,

Razor,

Scissor,

Sharpened rock.

No-one will line up small girls,

And cut,

Cut,

Cut,

Cut.

Bucket of secret parts buried in the ground, we don’t know where.

Today we will not talk about it,

And tomorrow we won’t bleed.

Too many of my lines start, ‘Have you ever …?’

And of course, she hasn’t.

No Disneyland, no fairground rides,

No distorting mirror, so we go.

And we stand there, bending as we’re still.

She looks. ‘I knew this once,

In a dream.’

We lose each other once or more,

Crazy circles and I’m so tired.

And ‘fraid, I can’t get out.

(We’re all alone in here.)

Comrades in a world that bends,

Distorts and twists, just what is right,

Which way out?

Distorted collection of the grotesque,

Echoes from another age.

When I find her, we don’t recognise each other,

For a moment.

That night I dream too.

I am woman too, she says,

When you bleed, I bleed.

What right have I?

If I stay quiet …

… the world weeps without you.

A week in,

Home,

Heady on opium,

I squat,

And wait.

I wait as, fresh knife each drop,

I urinate.

I didn’t know,

Some lost recall,

It was easier back then.

It’s normal,

Just the drugs,

You’ll be fine.

We give it time,

Not laxatives.

It got worse,

The curse,

They say.

Do you know the smell of,

Week old blood?

I bargain, internally.

Negotiate with phantom pain.

If I stop today,

Too soon, they say.

I wait.

I know now,

Things should emerge,

More easily,

Than drip by,

Caustic drip.

You want in,

Modern man,

Restraining yourself,

From cut,

Slash, rip.

And still I play a waiting game,

Until, I stop.

Pain welcome here.

I wait,

I wait.

I try again, you come with me,

Hold my hand, so I can’t run.

I lie there, legs spread.

You talk over my head,

Make arrangements.

Make it easy,

‘It’ll all be easier soon.’

Just open me up.

I pretend I’m not here.

We’ll all be happier when it’s done.

On the third day,

Catharsis.

Right now, I rate,

A good shit over orgasm,

Relief trumps pain.

It isn’t how I imagined.

You’re happy, though,

And I’ve regained,

Hours each day,

Weeks each month.

I plot the rest of my life.

Day one.

Proper Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance

Product Price Place Promotion Physical People Process

Proper  Prior  Planning  Prevents  Piss  Poor  Prophylaxis

Prophylactic Prior Planning Prevents Pain & Powerlessness

Prophylaxis,                                         Power Performance

Prophylaxis,                                         Private Performance

Prophylaxis,                                         Pain Performance

Prophylaxis,                                         Political Performance

Prophylaxis,                                         Pissed Performance

Prophylaxis,                                         Priceless Performance

Prophylaxis,                             Power Performance

Prophylaxis,                 Poor Performance

Prophylaxis,     Performance

Prophylaxis Performs

Proper Prevention

Prior Promotion

Proper, Public

Pre-Planning

Preparation

Planning

Prevents

Private

Pain

Pain

Pain

And that’s where we meet,

Eyes cast down.

Don’t look, don’t talk,

Don’t say my name.

Not out loud, as then you’ll know,

I’m betraying my mother,

My father,

My sisters.

Dare I ask …

You won’t be here,

Too American.

How do I explain?

It’s easy to know,

Knowledge bursts from the internet,

The print out in my bag.

I can see my tension in the way you sit,

But we’re not the same.

Cut me open again, I scream.

I can’t let you see me.

And they were all celebrating while I bled.

Don’t look at me, not there.

We were dressed like dolls, toyed with,

Dark-skinned Barbies, just babies when,

Gems glittering, can’t distract from tears,

She made the cut.

Not down there, I know it’s why I came,

But please, not now.

They’re singing in the courtyard,

Shrill ululations echo, my scream unheard.

You’re not listening either,

My presence in your office permission enough.

I’m screaming, ‘Don’t touch,’ but nothing comes out.

Take off your dress, she said, and you say it too.

I can still smell the perfume, even as you disinfect your hands.

Lie down, she said. I lie, your bed an invitation, curtains drawn.

Open your legs like a good girl, she said.

You stand and wait for me to open my legs,

But I’ve been cut before.

I push down the skirt.

Not now, I say, I can’t. I’ll book again.

And on the street I can hear sirens screaming for me.

The bride price is high.

Your invoice arrives, despite my refusal.

I watch the blade,