Poetry Thursday: Ode to a disappearing period

nixie tubes displaying the number 1.94

When I think
of how I cursed
my Curse
all of those times
over all of those years
when it showed up
or overstayed what relieved welcome
I managed to muster
or made its presence
a little too known
in the lower-back department,
I shake my head
at my youthful not-knowing.

The expense!
The hassle!
The blooming red shame
in light-colored shorts
thanks to ill-fitting underpants
or on someone else’s mattress
in the morning
after an evening
or tick-tick-tocking
as it wicked across the inner seam
of my jeans
as I raced it home

as my visitor’s visits
become infrequent,
and the pain of waiting
stretches out for-ev-er
in between,

pre-menstrual more
than it seems I was ever menstrual,
my breasts swollen,
my lower back pounding,
my waist disappearing
faster than fried chicken
at a Fourth of July picnic,
the top button of
my fat jeans straining
to rein in my matron’s gut
which itself,
I could swear,
is silently crying, “Elastic…elastic…”,

as I count down the back nine, 
hearing the laughs
of those just teeing off
in the distance
and the curses
of those
carving up divots
a few holes behind me,
it is all I can do
to not cluck
and shake my head
at the unknowing foolishness
that floats on the breezes
around me.

Just as well,
I think in my more lucid moments,
when one of these last few periods
finally starts
and the crying and rage
out of nowhere
subside for a bit.
Just as well,
I think, noticing the sun
starting to slip the tiniest bit lower in the sky.

Just a swell
Just as swell
Just as well…



  1. You speak for a LOT of us (as you so often do). I never dreamed I’d feel a sense of sadness and loss about it. Oh the irony!

  2. YOU’VE GOT A MATRON’S GUT???????????????????????????
    Welcome to the club.I thought you were the one woman in the world to retain her lithe and lissom form.

  3. Put that to music, and I’ll dance. I’ll dance slow and steady, nodding my head and swaying my hips. After a while, I’ll wince just a bit and put my hand on my back, then sit down on a chair against the wall, and watch the young girls bop and hop. They don’t really know the truths that their bodies hold and I won’t spoil it for them.

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