The word cunt and humble beginnings
do not go hand in hand:
the first gal, way before Eve, Sheela,
stooped down into the birthing position
and spread her lips like sunshine on snow,
like sand on the ocean bottom,
like honey around a spoon,
like truth fluttering like wings to escape the cave.
The word cunt, once a proud word used by many,
once an old Norse term, Kunta, simply meaning vulva,
has been forced into the shadows of shame,
shoved to the trenches of indecency.
Once, many an Old Norse woman shuffled over to the village medicine doctor,
said, hey, doc, I need an herb or two to soothe this kunta of mine,
what with the fifth born,
what with my tribal husband leaving,
beating his hairy knuckles against the enemies’ doors, eventually
losing his crusade against the Angles, the Saxons, the Jutes,
did we have hell to pay. What with St. Augustine and his cronies discrediting our language, our strength, all because he was afraid of St. Teresa in a g-string.
Never do we hear this most venerable of words
uttered on the holiest of pastimes,
To do so
would be immoral,
afraid we might get strong again,
vilify the cock and ball, back into submission.
We wear the mask you gave us.
Call it burka; call it Cover Girl;
Call it Maybelline;
it’s all the same when you scrape
the blameless pea, button, pearl, either with knives or pantyhose.
So, next time, girls,
some guy spits his forked tongue at you
because you don’t warm up to his advances,
sidle up to his lewd expectations, and hisses
cunt, remind him where he came from.
remember me – I am the woman
god warned you about.”
Michelle A. Ladwig – yes, the A is important; the why is research for those interested – has performed at Atlanta’s 7 Stages and Word Diversity Collective: Naked, Pagan & Uncensored, where all three of those adjectives were involved. She has brought her performance art to Venus Envy for the past four years where she delved into her Art as Movement installments, utilizing language, a lyra, and lycra.