she calls it love

my type of feminism is like my mother's she greets my father every evening half way at the door

my type of feminism is like my mother’s

she greets my father every evening

half way at the door

she kisses him slightly on his full lips

she takes his bag

she walks him to their bedroom

she loosens his tie

she removes his socks

she massages his feet

she walks him into the kitchen

in front of him

and wiggles her buttocks

she asks him to sit

and serves him supper

my mother says the

things she does for

her own husband

is not her default responsibility

it is not a wife-duty something something

she calls it love and understanding

and she tells me

when i meet a man

i must establish

my own rules of love

 

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