a woman asked me yesterday
how is sex after kids?
they had read an essay I wrote
silence and the word
about being a sex writer
about still having trouble
talking in bed.
sometimes the words fail you.
I didn’t have a good answer for her
at that moment, but here
is what I would say now.
when I was twenty, I was
a live wire, humming with sex;
almost anyone could have me
if they knew enough to ask
sex came off me in waves
like heat, like flame.
I was incandescent.
and I won’t blame the kids entirely
but for years after them I told people
my sexual orientation was tired.
the live wire was wrapped in layers
of insulation, and buried deep
beneath the surface of diapers
and laundry and dishes;
it’s hard to think sexy thoughts
when you’re covered in vomit.
now sex is a process of excavation
and it takes a dedicated digger
to peel away the muffling layers
to uncover the naked wire.
but thank god, thank god
when finally laid bare
it still sparks and blazes
incandescent.
*****