Adolescence.
When I think of my adolescence, I
think of the bathrooms of those seedy hotels in San Francisco
where my boyfriend took me.
I had never seen bathrooms like that--
no curtains, no towels, no mirror--
just a sink green with grime and a toilet
yellow and black, like something in science experiments growing
the plague in bowls.
[LAUGHTER]
Sex was still a crime then.
I'd sign out of my college dorm to a false destination,
sign into the flophouse under a false name,
go down the hall to the one bathroom, and lock myself in.
And I could not learn to get that diaphragm in.
I decorated it like a cake with glistening spermicide,
and leaned down.
And it would leap from my fingers
and fall into a corner to land in a concave depression
like a rat's nest.
I'd bend and pluck it out, and wash it, and wash it down
to that fragile dome, like the transparent eyelid
on animals that do not blink.
I'd frost it again till it was shimmering,
and bend it into its little arc.
And it would fly through the air,
rim humming like Saturn's ring.
I would bow down and crawl to retrieve it.
[LAUGHTER]
When I think on being 18, that's what I see--
that delicate disk floating through the air and descending.
I see myself moaning and reaching,
reaching for my own life.
[CHATTER]