Two Poems by Liv Mammone

by Leslie Anne Mcilroy


Revelation Upon Finally Being Able To Bend and Shave my Legs

It echoes when
somebody
calls me femme.
Not so
much sound—
more air—
not like a name
that's earned
or grabbed with
fist. Worn
as a crown on
top of shining
tresses others
tame by money, 
spray, high heat.
Femme’s
work. It's
groom. It's
cultivating
‘self’ like some
rare bloom—
some leopard
rose. To femme
takes such
movement. Such
painful, bending
posture to
attain the
architecture
stillness
men demand.
Heeled shoes, 
shaved thighs,
lip pencil, the
armor of a dress
or all
its heavy shame.
All these
require, first, a
set of limbs
to bear the
work. Even if
the
work is done to
quicken my
own pulse at
sight my reflection.

 


Definitions of Femme


after sam sax

 

bar for doing
pull ups
pin through the
butterfly
shoe store
Eiffel Tower
shadow
apple blossom
tree
lip as in the
thing one
mistakes for
fruit

lip as in the

thing one

catches on and

falls

a striving

a knot

a not as in if it’s

not

perfect why

bother

art
a rhinestone nail
a nail
hammered down
a bind as in a
spot or fix
a bind as in a
covenant

one who fixes

a wish

a want as in a

flame

as in a goal

as in a thing

in danger
a gold coin
a walk as in a
trial
a trying but not
as in patience
endless patience
the well the
water and the
pull


 Photo of Liv Mammone

Photo of Liv Mammone

Liv Mammone is an editor and poet from Long Island, New York. Her poetry has appeared in wordgathering, monstering, Wicked Banshee, The Medical Journal of Australia, and others. In 2017, she competed on the national poetry slam team for Union Square Slam and appeared in the play The Fall of All Atomic Angels as part of a festival that was named Best of Off Off Broadway by Time Out Magazine. Her most recent editorial job, Uma Dwivedi’s poetry collection They Called her Goddess; we Named her Girl, was nominated for a Write Bloody book award.