Mary Fae Smith


What Woman Wants

“Go deeper, Go deeper, Go deeper”

He told her.

He questioned her.

He begged her.

He pleaded her.

Not her. Him. Him Him. Always him. Deeper into her but never into him. What did he want from her? WHat was he excavating inside the mine field of her soul?

Entering through her womanhood and moving in.

Out…out. Out! She wanted out. She wanted him out. Out in the open. THat is where she wanted him. No longer insider her.  In front. Standing. Staring. Revealing.

He was no longer allowed to hide in the Woman.

She forbid it. Gave him no respite. Gave him no solace. Gave him no home until he built her one first…

And let her go inside. Go deeper and deeper and DEEPER into he man.

All the longing in her soul craved entry within.

How does woman enter a man?

How does she penetrate and plant her seeds?

How does she build a life within his love?

Serious now. She meant it. Meant it down to the fibers holding her together suspended in time.

“Leave me. Leave me be. I want you to go. Go far away. I can no longer be your home. You must find your own. I cannot replace what’s been lost in your soul. You cannot infiltrate mine and play parasitic host to mine either. Be yourself for once, you slob. Be Man. Not A Man. Be Man. I need Man. All of Man. In one man.

Let me enter into that.”

She cried in her pillow.

– Mary Fae Smith

© 2013

“deep south” by L. K. Thayer

hormones a raging
can’t remember what’s up
just that it’s all
breaking down
going deep South
give me a mint julip
make that a double
sit me on a porch swing
but hey,
wait a minute baby
I ain’t ready to go
out to pasture
just yet
you betcha, not yet
stay in check
hold on, suck it in, slurp it down
get it up,
swing it over my shoulder
whatever I gotta do
it ain’t quittin’ time, see
I’m fightin’ false tooth
& hang nail
I don’t wanna give up
just cause gravity
is beatin me down
I will tugboat, this barge
up the river
paddle my
cottage cheese ass
over the falls
adopt a Southern drawl
cause this babe is just startin
to spread her bat wings
different bat time,
different bat station
time to sing,
time to dance,
time to shout
I am not down for the count
you cannot
me the fuck out!
L.K. Thayer
© 2013

“Sparkle Plenty” by Alexis Rhone Fancher

“Iʼm worried;
I canʼt lose my sparkle,” she says.
“It draws people to me,
gives me my edge.
Itʼs the stress;
Iʼm afraid itʼll suck me dry.”
“Youʼll never run out,” I tell her,
“youʼre the
Queen of Sparkle!”

She smiles the same
smile that captured
my lips that
day in the pool when
shining, naked,
she rocked me,
hands caressing my ass,
her sparkling breasts
flush up against me,
soft pillows, pressed into

For Angela Blessing, with love from

“Movie Night” by C. Jean Pearlstein

I hurry from my car to find
My place at the gentrified corner
Restaurant among my sister’s friends
It’s a warm and sunny afternoon
The outdoor umbrellas shield us from
The glare
Cacophonous voices examine in
Detail the parking logistics of
One couple.

One long time friend tries to shush the volume of the elder woman
We are all old, senior citizens
Attending weeknight movie previews
The movie centers on a young
Hawaiian princess of the 19th century
Of her love, and loss
Punctuated by sarcastic whispers
Who forgot what it’s like to
Be young, and juicy, and needy.
“I love all women”, my Sis told me earlier.
I rise and leave the theater
In the dark, while the credits scroll.

C. Jean Pearlstein

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2010

“And So She Bled” by Roz Levine

Her sentence
Life with hard labor
Trudging in snow banks
Toiling under sun blisters
Saving leaf particles
Her papyrus
Scrawled below moon dark
With her woman’s blood
Fingered herself for words
Dug deep in genital tissue
For survival sounds
Her path to freedom
All she needed
Some blood
A few leaves
Her words
Each month
Creating new life
Where walking dead
Spine curled from hard labor
Paid a perilous price
For their speak out

Roz Levine

Photo by VC Ferry

© 2010

“Side Effects” by Nicole Rigets

I used to imagine myself in all the glossy photographs inside magazines, project myself into the background and now years later I have the sobering understanding that these are not and will not be me. My waiting is over – it’s merely an illusion, a trick of the mind, a wishing, a side effect of advertising. A misery builds up and I wonder what I will do with all the projections pouring out of my psyche. Why can’t I be the woman in every room, every landscape, every designer’s collection, every automobile, with every diamond, dog, dress, hair-do, handbag, high heel, on every man’s arm, every marble floor, every pedestal. Who the hell am I? What am I doing here?

Photo & Poem by Nicole Rigets

All Rights Reserved

© 2010