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Roots by Frida Kahlo Lament
for Sara
Twelve women and seven older men in a darkened room of plush and plastic on a slow Tuesday night: the night of aging strippers at the end of the line Twelve women climbing down from the stage and into the blank stares of the men who sit and wait and don't seem to notice the dancing gyrations of pelvis and breast Twelve women smile seductively and flash their eyes at the silent men, shoving past each other with narrowed eyes filled with venom, with cold words cutting to the heart ... My smile
will tell lies to you until your
twenty dollar bill invites me into your
lap to dance my dance of sirens on your
crotch and make you feel: Something Get out of
my space, woman! Don't tell
me I'm too old. This man is mine and
I'm going to make him want me to
dance for him and then beg for more I'm going
to do it and I'm going to show
the boss that I'm no Tuesday night stripper.
Last year I was top billing, Saturday night.
I'm only 21 and have everything they want ... The
dancers crowd around the men, shaking their breasts and hips, pursing their red-painted lips and grinding to the throbbing music, knowing that their jobs depend on enticing the men to pay There is nowhere else to go for a Tuesday night stripper, and the women's desperate eyes are flashes of steel knives cutting deeply into tired breasts and sore backs and soft stomachs The seven men know that they can sit and wait, and watch with amusement while the twelve women compete with each other for the condescending wave of a twenty dollar bill ... I remember
the way it always was
when women came into the
club
and I was the only one to dance for them and smile my goddess smile I am the
only one who was brave
enough to dance for those women,
and to show that I am one of them,
sending them into each other's arms I am the
goddess of the temple
giving my body to women who
want me for the sweet sacred gift of
my shaved pussy before their wide
eyes Oh yes, I
know all the moves to
make those women want me and to
tell the men who are secretly watching me
that they can't have what I allow them to see Those men
will know that I am a
mirage forever beyond their grasp
and they will know, too, that I am beautiful
and that I am everything they long to possess The naked
gifts of my soul are for women
but the men are captured by my spell. Their
desiring eyes, their gasps, their laughter,
tell me they are ensnared by my dark magic All of
these men are my father who made
me dance for him as a
young girl, who was
nice to me when I was nice to him, and taught me that I can always make him dance, and dance I don't see
the men at all when I dance on
their laps and rub my body against theirs.
My inner eye is closed and visions of
temple dancers are pulsing through my mind I am Lilith
and my body writhes and whirls
in a trance that captures and holds these men
and leads them blindly like sheep to slaughter
Sara told the man who was her boss that she was worth more than Tuesdays, worth more than the $140 she got from the seven silent dull men, split 50-50 with the house He laughed and promised her Thursdays if she could make $300 for the house, but the flip side of the wager was that she would be on the street if she got even a penny less He told Sara that perhaps she should spend more time in the tanning booth, change her hair, exercise harder and jog to make her body once again hard, smooth and youthful
Self Portrait by Frida Kahlo ... I showed
the boss just what I could do
with a house full of men who wanted me
more than any of the other dancers, and
one guy paid me for nine dances in a row I danced
harder and harder and harder
and never took a single break. The men
called
me to them and wanted me, wanted
me, and I knew I had them all in my grasp I wiped off
his bossman's grin. Every man was
focused
on only me, my body was a magnet
for their desires and their money, and that
night I hauled in $800 for the boss and me My body was
covered with sweat and every
muscle and joint ached from six hours of
nonstop dancing, but my emotions soared
because I knew that those men were all mine And I was
worth every damned penny that I got
...
And the
bossman took the money from Sara and he smiled and he smiled |
