My yoni is an artist
She paints on blank canvas in broad brush strokes a river that runs down a waterfall
She likes to lunge down inner thigh
and squat to the ground
eating dirt and giggling at my ankles
Often she hides
in dark shadows of loose trouser legs
scoffing at me from hot darkness
“Bless her” she sighs as she lounges in lace
“busy little thing”.
My yoni doesn't miaow
she roars.
Eats life alive and bites in with teeth
Like eating watermelon with both hands
Juice runs down chin in delight
Yoyo swears.
Like a fucking sailor.
She rides on the waves of choppy seas
emblazoned by the moonlight
She’s also the jellyfish in the water, bouncing on current flow.
She does not like tampons. Or thongs.
She'll cycle, but be nice
When I tell her to shush she holds it for a while...
Then bleeds on white trousers and cackles.
She’s a witch. Dirty Bitch!
Mine doesn’t moan when she bleeds
Instead
She stands.
Heavy and stable
like Banyan tree roots in rich African soil
Yoni is discerning
Studious sensate, she collates vibrations and energies and then decides
She won’t be rushed anymore, so don’t ask.
She’s lost patience for that
Crib-walking into Womanlihood,
I will hold onto her
Like a saggy-pant rude boy on a street corner
She's got swagger
She knows she’s the key. No secret
Her temple is ancient
She’s a 50 year old divorced warrior woman
She's Tiresias, who sees with eyes closed
And she’s a lost little girl, clutching at fingers of strangers, trying to please, so people will keep her.
She is yoni. Noony 2.0. And this time, she won’t laugh unless it’s funny.
- by Ava Riby-Williams (2017)
Image credit- Georgia O'Keefe