CONFESSIONS OF A MENSTRUAL IDLER

I confess.
I am a menstrual Luddite.
For this unfashionable belief, I blame the woman from a 10-year-old sanitary pad ad, the one who jumps from a plane with a parachute declaring she forgets "those days" thanks to the perfection of the pad in question.
It all started when I was a teenager taking my first steps in the mysterious world of menstruations. As I fought cramps and only felt like pampering myself in bed, she would smile at me beaming confidence. I cursed her passionately and envied her at the same time.
Other ads just made it worse : "For the modern and dynamic woman who cares about her appearance and does not slow down her rhythm, even in those days", chirped one. "For the woman who feels good about herself and is at ease with others", cheerfully declared another.
Oh dear, I felt quite the opposite. It must have meant that I was not good enough, that I did not feel good about myself, that I wasn't growing up to become a successful and modern woman, or maybe, that I did not care about my appearance… Why could I not be like them ?
I was surrounded.
"I never let my periods stop me", announced a carefree woman in a tampon ad while some adolescent girls chose "those days" to play volleyball. Don't let your body stop you from working and from taking part in the "free-time" activities the modern world has on offer, the ads shouted in my ears just as I tried to doze off at the end of a hard day spent trying to pretend I did not have my periods, as society requires me to do.
As I left my teenage years behind me, this feeling close to hate for the white-clad parachutist and for her friends gained confidence. It perked up slowly from its black (or red ?) pit of inadequacy and it started to dawn on me that, perhaps, there was nothing wrong with me.
They were the weird ones.
The bold and simple truth shaped up inside me and finally came out. I am a great fan of couch loafing and tranquil thinking during my periods. What's wrong with that ? All the women I know are, despite the flourishing of TV and magazine ads enthusiastically depicting the contrary.
Like a red revolutionary, I insist on going along my backward, passé way. I believe that "those days" should be simply spent in guiltless relaxing and in hours of quiet affection towards my aching tummy. But our hyperactive, pain-killer culture - and equality at any cost -- has seeped into the once-sealed-off menstrual world.
The message is loud and clear. Our brave new menstrual world has no time for cosiness. Its female inhabitants cannot wait for me and for most other women to finish our warm herbal teas. They are too busy jogging on the beach wearing tight, white trousers (as if a woman would really ever wear tight, white trousers while she has her periods), climbing tall ladders to restore ancient Roman statues or riding merry-go-round horses through the skies, lifted to soaring heights by the lightness of their new sanitary pad.
Sure, the incredible development of menstrual technology (the sanitary pad industry was born only 80 years ago) and the possibility to talk about periods more freely have helped drive away many deeply rooted taboos and have massively improved women's lives. But they have also celebrated the funeral of the menstrual idler, relegating her in the démodé and pathetic land of the helpless woman.
The confident parachutist has been off the screens for years, and yet, menstrual idlers like me are more out of fashion than ever. They are Luddites trying to stop the train of progress, or to cut up the parachute of technological advancement (hoping the famous plane-jumping woman was strapped to it).
I must be getting bitter. I think these hyperactive ad women have sold their souls to the enemy. They are acting on a script written by men. They conspire with the sanitary pad industry to make us menstrual idlers feel inadequate and to enforce a male-defined menstrual bon ton where periods must be concealed.
I mean, they get on my nerves so much that I almost long for menstruated women to be left alone, as in the village of a Coptic Ethiopian monk I recently met in Rome. He told me that in some regions in Ethiopia women still spend the week of their periods in special huts doing nothing. Idling, I guess. Little girls bring them food, wash them and change their clothes. I know this is not as good as it seems, as it stems from the belief that menstruated women are impure. But a little dreaming never hurt anyone.
I have also made up my dream ad. A woman wearing soft clothes sits on a padded chair, her feet up on a stool, covered by a blanket. She holds a cup of hot chocolate for self-pampering and smiles shyly at the camera. "When you have your periods, you don't feel like doing anything, just like me. Indulge yourself, relax. XYZ pads will make you feel even more comfortable. Perfect for spending those days exactly as you want".

LA TUA LINGUA

"Mi piace come
la tua lingua scorre sulla mia",
mi hai scritto da lontano

Hai letto la mia traduzione
forse ti sei sorpreso di come
le tue parole
fossero diventate mie

(Quindi mi vuoi,
Vuoi me
Vuoi la mia lingua )

Certo, mi hai sfidato nella tua,
di lingua.
Ma ora, lo sai,
è un po' anche mia.
 
Patria delle mie poesie archiviate,
terra di parole sensuali
che mai conosco tutta,
eppure vorrei.

"La tua ascia
è dolce sulle mie parole",
ha continuato,
giocando sottile.

(E' perché mi piaci,
Mi piaci tu
Mi piace la tua lingua)

Tempo dopo,
mentre finalmente
la tua lingua si mischiava alla mia,
ho pensato ai problemi di traduzione.

(Poi non ho pensato più.
Mi piace la tua lingua
come se fosse mia)
 

SALTY

swish
i really wish
i was a little fish
a naughty little thing
taking advantage of the heat
to swim all over you, in and out
dive into the drops of your sweat
feed off the minerals within
draw strange patterns
as i wiggle about
 till i fall asleep
curled up
in the small pool
at the heart
of your belly

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