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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=452624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>What Are Big Girls Made Of?</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=452624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The construction of a woman:<br>a woman is not made of flesh <br>of bone and sinew <br>belly and breasts, elbows and liver and toe. <br>She is manufactured like a sports sedan. <br>She is retooled, refitted and redesigned <br>every decade. <br>Cecile had been seduction itself in college. <br>She wriggled through bars like a satin eel, <br>her hips and ass promising, her mouth pursed <br>in the dark red lipstick of desire. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=452624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">She visited in '68 still wearing skirts <br>tight to the knees, dark red lipstick, <br>while I danced through Manhattan in mini skirt, <br>lipstick pale as apricot milk, <br>hair loose as a horse's mane. Oh dear, <br>I thought in my superiority of the moment, <br>whatever has happened to poor Cecile? <br>She was out of fashion, out of the game, <br>disqualified, disdained, dis- <br>membered from the club of desire. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=452624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Look at pictures in French fashion <br>magazines of the 18th century: <br>century of the ultimate lady <br>fantasy wrought of silk and corseting. <br>Paniers bring her hips out three feet <br>each way, while the waist is pinched <br>and the belly flattened under wood. <br>The breasts are stuffed up and out <br>offered like apples in a bowl. <br>The tiny foot is encased in a slipper <br>never meant for walking. <br>On top is a grandiose headache: <br>hair like a museum piece, daily <br>ornamented with ribbons, vases, <br>grottoes, mountains, frigates in full <br>sail, balloons, baboons, the fancy <br>of a hairdresser turned loose. <br>The hats were rococo wedding cakes <br>that would dim the Las Vegas strip. <br>Here is a woman forced into shape <br>rigid exoskeleton torturing flesh: <br>a woman made of pain. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=452624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How superior we are now: see the modern woman <br>thin as a blade of scissors. <br>She runs on a treadmill every morning, <br>fits herself into machines of weights <br>and pulleys to heave and grunt, <br>an image in her mind she can never <br>approximate, a body of rosy <br>glass that never wrinkles, <br>never grows, never fades. She <br>sits at the table closing her eyes to food <br>hungry, always hungry: <br>a woman made of pain. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=452624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A cat or dog approaches another, <br>they sniff noses. They sniff asses. <br>They bristle or lick. They fall <br>in love as often as we do, <br>as passionately. But they fall <br>in love or lust with furry flesh, <br>not hoop skirts or push up bras <br>rib removal or liposuction. <br>It is not for male or female dogs <br>that poodles are clipped <br>to topiary hedges. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=452624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">If only we could like each other raw. <br>If only we could love ourselves <br>like healthy babies burbling in our arms. <br>If only we were not programmed and reprogrammed <br>to need what is sold us. <br>Why should we want to live inside ads? <br>Why should we want to scourge our softness <br>to straight lines like a Mondrian painting? <br>Why should we punish each other with scorn <br>as if to have a large ass<br>were worse than being greedy or mean?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=452624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When will women not be compelled<br>to view their bodies as science projects,<br>gardens to be weeded,<br>dogs to be trained?<br>When will a woman cease<br>to be made of pain?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Marge+Piercy">Marge Piercy</a></strong></div>