![]() ![]() Understand this was 1965, when girls were not permitted to wear pants to public school, and we’d be sent home if our skirts were half an inch above the knee. ![]() We knew nothing about our anatomy and heard only horror stories about the other. It was contrary to everything we believed. Sex for the sake of sex? There is such a thing as female satisfaction? ![]() ![]() Whether or not we find what we are seeking You mean we had a choice? We didn’t have to wait by the phone, or freak out in the high school corridors, obsessing over signs and signals from the male sex as to our worthiness? We could just toss all of that to the winds? Your little month, your little half a year, So make the most of this, your little day, Not only that, in another poem it was clear that she didn’t give a damn about the boy-girl conventions we’d grown up with: basically that girls were not allowed to initiate a date, or much of anything: This was a woman talking about sex with a capital “S,” no bones about it. While taking off my coat in her bedroom, I spotted a thin paperback in the light on the nightstand, The Collected Sonnets of Edna St. It was after school and I was visiting my friend, Carolyn, to beg for help with math, at which I was hopeless. I got off the bus in a strange neighborhood, a winter afternoon and already dark. ![]()
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