Felicia Zamora

Mujer Mala

after Gloria Anzaldúa’s “Movimientos de rebeldía y las culturas que traicionan”
after the May 3, 2022 Roe V. Wade Overturn Draft Leak
Let’s be clear :: my womb remains
a cave :: empty space echoing &
mysterious :: I’m going for minimalism, I tell
the grocer, the mailperson, the walker bent
over picking up their pug’s poo, the kid
bouncing on the trampoline
next door :: Just a wee bit more space
you know, I tell the linen-aisle shopper
in TJMAXX, You never know when
space comes in handy :: all things
I may one day store inside my uterus ::
Grandma Evelyn’s ruby ring, push pins,
a carved wooden horse, kitchen vacuum
sealer I bought online then only used once,
knitted Koozie with the birthday cake
& candles design, dead batteries housed
in a cup in the closet I’ve been too lazy
to recycle, an electric toothbrush that no
longer holds a charge yet I hesitated
throwing away, the dried-up hair bleach
I used for my mustache, one roller skate,
a box of CDs, scarf from a street vendor
in Dublin, a singular stud earring :: I carry
my storage uterus with me wherever
I go :: when the woman at the crosswalk
sneezes, I say, I have a handkerchief for that
in my womb :: Then I say, Today I declutter
my uterus :: place each object in my uterus
in piles, bring in cardboard boxes, plastic
foldout tables, tarps to fan out on the lawn
of my uterus, hold a garage sale, stick tiny
dots with 5-cent signs on bellies of objects
in my uterus :: invite the neighborhood :: place
an ad in the local newspaper :: Yard Uterus
Sale :: pitch a lemonade stand with my niece
& nephew :: charge hugs not dimes :: kick
everyone out at 1 p.m. Because a good uterus
sale never lasts longer than early afternoon
I tell the man giving me 10 cents
for the cup of dead batteries, to make
time to load the leftovers for charity :: to make
space for space again :: to hold air, balloon-
like, between the hip bones :: My therapist
wants to Freudian-analyze the motel
I grew up in, the Great Depression’s
impact on my grandparents, my mother’s
hoarding :: Nah, I say, it’s extra, you know
for when I might need a place to call
my own :: My own :: My own :: My own :*
Roe v. Wade on a knife’s edge today
of being overturned :: opinion leak ::
headlines reel :: “Roe v. Wade Is on Life
Support. How The Fuck Did We Get
Here?” (RollingStone) :: “What abortion
was like before Roe—and what it could
become” (Apple News Today) :: headlines ::
“Women reckon with a “different world”
as overturning of Roe appears imminent”
(The Washington Post):: I touch my body
rub palms from sides to belly :: I know
my body is mine, I tell my flesh :: Mine, I whisper
to my uterus :: she knows:: despite the laws
of men who want to control me, bind me, force
my body into their agendas :: despite women
who want to control me, bind me, force my body
into their agendas :: the value system disinherits
me :: My womb remains a cave :: because of
Planned Parenthood :: because Morning-After
pills :: because Roe v. Wade :: because Pro-Choice
laws still enact :: because I dream to create outside
my uterus :: because the space I save is choice.

* Moment in conversation with June Jordan’s poem, “Poem about My Rights”