Inseams
She wants to wear Pants to church.
You men, you don’t get it.
It’s not about Respect. God doesn’t need
to see her Legs. God doesn’t care if it’s
three-inch or six-inch heels she wears.
God doesn’t care about an up-skirt breeze.
You’re all worried about her Inseams.
You’re worried she’ll sit with her legs open,
taking up all your precious spaces.
She wants to wear pants to church because the
seam of her slacks are filled with holy
water. Her cuffs propel her indignant fire.
She wants to wear pants to church so she can
spread her legs for more than you — take up
as much of the room as she wants.
Begs questions about
your shriveling manhood
when you think of her.
Her and her Inseams.
Open like a “V,” and according to you,
spreading her legs is what she’s
meant to do —
made so ever-clear when
Adam mounted Eve… clear when
Lilith was made demon for simply
presiding over Adam’s
cocky prepotency,
bucking him aground.
Ah, but Mother Eve’s act remains
Woman’s Precedent, she made our true purpose
crystalline: Women were made for Pants the
moment Eve led Adam to the Tree
by the hand. Knowledge of Good and
Evil, Eve had it, long before man. She knew of
her Power and what it means to be God.
And using nothing save her Will and
Word, and without blunt force, or fear.
I can only imagine how tender her gaze
as his mouth opened, teeth sinking,
swallowing...
Eve — Mother of us all —
simply bade Adam, Eat.
And as the eye of God spied, she then
commanded silently:
Now…
fall.
— J.A. Carter-Winward
