Proffer

How bold it was to suggest to my fellow poet

not to use the term hairy center

in her bee and apple blossom poem.

Burying their bulbous heads

With their black-seed eyes

Into the hairy center

Of each languid bloom.

Being the one lesbian in the group

a whoop went up around me,

I’d think of all people,

you would approve of a hairy center.

When I first came out in the 80’s

I stood on Castro Street with its sex shops,

and gay bars, men kissing and grinding in public.

This straight-lady poets’ moment was awkward.

How could I say the hairy center was sacred,

they knew, they all had their own,

and that I certainly didn’t want a bulbous head

and black-seed eyes coming for mine?

How could I suggest that it’s the hint

of a something that makes it sexy?

Have the bee dive head first into the flower,

we get the rest.

As a lesbian, I was seen as

an expert at flower diving,

my feedback made me look prudish.

I couldn’t defend myself,

well, yes, I am an expert,

without looking conceited, boastful,

challenging the authority of a poet

on how to write of bee and flower.

I shut up and let them wonder

what kind of lesbian I am.

Do I know what I’m doing,

or am I just some shy newbie

standing in the Castro

with its dildos and cock rings

and everybody’s hairy centers?