by poetess Holly Rennick, presented at the West Virginia Women in the Arts conference

Hello. Hello. Is this thing on? OK? OK. Let’s get started. Thank you for coming and a big thank you to our corporate sponsor, Target, where you can expect more and pay less.

Thank you, Ms. Chairwoman, for such a gracious introduction. It’s a pleasure to be here. Let me kick things off with my poem “Raggedy Anne.”

Innocent, as my brother draws me to my bed.
Raggedy Anne smiles from her shelf.
Claimed, as my brother kisses my chaste lips.
Proud, as my brother awakens my yet-emerging breast.
Presented, as my brother disrobes me as a woman.
Raggedy Anne watches.
Trusting, as my brother lays me back.
Hesitant, as my brother lets me see him.
Raggedy Ann watches, as well.
Trusted, as my brother maneuvers himself into my awkward hand.
Loved, as my brother prepares me.
Loving, as my brother lets me ready him.

Just a minute, I lost my place. Oh, yes, here we are.

Supple, as my brother parts my thighs.
Welcoming, as my brother parts me further.
Raggedy Anne thinks of Raggedy Andy.
Brave, as my brother brings me pain.
Receptive, as my brother passes the constriction.
Wanton, as my brother feeds what’s latent.
Satiated, as my brother inseminates me.
Celebratory, as my brother receives love in return.
Validated, as my brother gasps, siblings now wet together.

Almost done, here.

Possessive, as my brother shrinks free.
Content, as my brother rests his head on my chest.
Raggedy Anne won’t tell.
Secure, as my brother speaks of tomorrow.
Raggedy Anne will be there too.

Let me be honest, non-sexist writing, like everything else, takes effort. As an amalgamated language, English includes approximately-equivalent Romantic and Germanic root words. The former usually works in poetry, romance being something we girls like to read about. I mean, women.

Poetry reminds us, as women united, what simple words really mean when we self-esteem one another. We’re each different in our own uniqueness, alike in our sameness. We call out against the micro-aggressions from those who fear our power, softly spoken, yet mighty in might. We rest in the arms of the Mother Goddess, envelop ourselves in Her light. Let us rise above the enslavement of alphabetization. We celebrate our grandmothers, the seeds they sowed, the songs they sang. Catch my alliteration? “Faith of our mothers, living still. In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword. Join in a song of sweet accord.”

“Raggedy Anne” speaks to stories unspoken, the dreams that draw us, the femme that flowers fragrantly. More alliteration. That final “e” is silent, so “femme” is like “mem” or perhaps “hem.”

My poem’s not about the wedding night, but rather about when we first make love with our brother. Take, for example, my line where ‘lay’ means to recline in the transitive sense. “Getting laid,” which we commonly equate to copulation, actually refers to being positioned as the subjugate partner.

And why our brothers? It’s to honor our own DNA. It’s as close as we can get until we get the cloning thing to work. It’s our kind of romance, sweeties — I mean sisters. Thank you. I’ll be glad to sign copies at the table. Please write your name on a card, so I spell it right. And oh, while I’m up here, you might want to know about my latest romance novel. It has an embossed title in raised silver. My narrator’s the Wilmingtonshire Manor’s Amish scullery maid who’s taught herself to read by the light of a taper. She’s the lost child the Earl of Wilmingtonshire, due to a carriage switch soon after birth. Her lover is the Earl of Wilmingtonshire’s youngest son who dreams of the new world. There are veiled references to sex, but no given dimensions. Took six weeks to write. Smothered with similes. Mammoth metaphor. Crescendoing consummation.

It can be found by the grocery checkout, but not at Safeway due to their policy regarding who can sleep with whom.

Poetry pays crap, but my romantic novel’s moving at 5,000 per month and I’ll pay off my student loans. I don’t have any with me to autograph, though, because nobody wants a signed paperback. It’s on Kindle.