My Grandma pushed through the veil and talked to me.
She flapped through on frantic bird wings that rustled in the palm trees outside my window.
She howled through screeching bus brakes.
She laughed through children spinning me in a game of Ring Around the Rosie.
Then I was both dizzied and frightened but ready to listen and
Listen closely.
When my Grandma wants me to listen,
she really wants to be heard,
so she burst through with an old velvety ring box brought out from storage.
And when light bounced off the edge of her diamond ring
that does not fit me,
she groaned through the layers of years since she was buried,
and told me to
Put on that ring and never take it off.
Get engaged to yourself,
she commanded.
Open your heart if you must, but be ready to close quickly.
She spoke to me through my friends who caution,
Do not trust too soon.
Keep your legs closed even though you love to fuck.
When she wanted to be heard,
she sent a magic spell in the mail through a childhood friend
who wrapped up protective salt for the four corners of my home
and raggedy satchels of sacred herbs meant to funnel in true love
and filter out any evil doer
who would push my head down to his cock
and pay me in compliments on my ass
while looking at every other ass that passes by.
She also speaks through my friend who has her same broad shoulders and cheeks,
who stands three heads above me with long legs and a stoic resolve
not to be crushed by any man.
And Grandma reminds me over coffee with this friend,
You made a commitment to yourself.
Opening your legs would be
a betrayal of self.
Oh, but what I would do with his cock, I laugh,
and I beg my Grandma through my friend,
asking them both for permission to indulge.
But when almost every moment feels like some sort of betrayal,
I should never let any cock in again.
Your ancestors do not like to see you mistreated.
They will come to you when they are angry.
I summoned my Grandma with her favorite snack,
a plate of tomatoes and mayonnaise.
I left it out until the mayonnaise had crusted over and waited for her to speak.
I wanted my love to last and be happy and
ended up with a thorny burr in my side that I could not shake.
No matter which way I turned, he always clung on.
I mistook his persistence for love.
And now,
here I am,
engaged to myself,
with a promise ring on the wrong finger,
hoping it keeps me true and keeps away those who would fool me.
Get engaged to yourself,
she commands.
When he touched that ring, he knew it, too.
He knew that to fuck me would be a betrayal of a sacred spell
that was cast over me
through the veil.
My Grandma protects my heart with barbed wire.
To remove it would be
a betrayal of self.