deepundergroundpoetry.com
Socorro
(even in the hearts of fierce men, who are more savage
than safe, there is a love story.)
she was a whore among the other whores in the saloon on
Market street. they attended the cattle drivers, range rovers
& drifters who passed through town, spending their coins on
whiskey & these young women; these artisans of sex.
her name was Bonita, which means beautiful. she knew that
a man was only a man; the same for this wild breed, made
bronze & hard by the plains. mostly, they only wanted to use
her to relieve the river of fire that ran in their loins.
she knew how to wash away his thick fluid in a tub when he
dismounted her. she took his coins & he returned to his drinking.
but if he tried to beat her, she knew how to use a knife.
the night was vicious when the tall men rode in. there was no
rain, but the sky shouted its anger in thunderous rapture. clad
in mud-speckled dusters & broad Stetsons, the riders approached
the bar & called for whiskey. the whores waited calmly, knowing
a man drinks before he acknowledges a woman.
later, Bonita was in her room with the cowboy who paid for her.
she saw in his eyes, when he chose her, that he was feeling
something, & she felt it too, though she did not want to.
he bucked like a stallion when he neared his orgasm; she rode
him hard, holding tightly. when it was done, she kept him close,
& he did not retreat, as most men do, for the whiskey.
as they dressed, he spoke: ‘I want to tell you something, but I don’t
know the words.’ ‘you don’t need words,’ she said, ‘I know your
heart.’ they embraced for long moments, the stars drifting in the
dire sky. her eyes were wet as she made a silent plea to the old
gods that he would stay. but a man must ride to his obligations.
she thought he would return to her one day. he would take her as his
woman, & they would carve a life of natural harmony out of the great
wilderness.
but until that happened, or if it never happened, she would go on whoring.
it was her means of survival, & there is nothing shameful in surviving.
her name was Bonita, she was beautiful.
and she was a whore…
(Art: Daniel Blau)
Published 18th May 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 13
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comments 10
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18th May 2016 6:22pm
No woman should ever apologize for how she chose to survive
to keep that tiny flame of hope in her human heart alive.
Beautiful write, John.
to keep that tiny flame of hope in her human heart alive.
Beautiful write, John.
Anonymous
- Edited 8th Nov 2018 00:49am
18th May 2016 7:36pm
<< post removed >>
18th May 2016 8:04pm
18th May 2016 9:46pm
Great western context, and very harsh times well realized. A moving picture of a born survivor named Bonita. La amo!
18th May 2016 11:59pm
I traveled back in time.
The stomach and the heart
Both gets to starve
What would a woman do
Just to fill both up?
Those were hard times
And to live, one needs to forger love.
The stomach and the heart
Both gets to starve
What would a woman do
Just to fill both up?
Those were hard times
And to live, one needs to forger love.
19th May 2016 4:26am
A reminder of the hard lessons of necessity; reminds me of a prose poem, though not in form.
19th May 2016 11:28pm
Love the tale of two people who don't let living destroy their ability to love and don't let loving destroy their ability to live.
If my story is ever told, I hope it is by you
If my story is ever told, I hope it is by you
20th May 2016 11:57am
20th May 2016 2:17pm
The wild West ... an excellent portrayal of love and survival ... and doing what must be done to have both ...
great write JohnFeddeler ...
great write JohnFeddeler ...
Anonymous
22nd May 2016 8:11pm
Sir John, we all do what we must to survive...I echo Ahavati...and this line....
"she knew how to wash away his thick fluid in a tub when he
dismounted her." - amazing...
With love always - Taryn xoxo
"she knew how to wash away his thick fluid in a tub when he
dismounted her." - amazing...
With love always - Taryn xoxo
