My third article about my maneuvering through perimenopause is up now at “Navigating the Change.“ I am always so grateful to K. E. (Kathy) Garland, for hosting my work on this incredible website for women battling and growing with the changes in their mid-life bodies. You can read my latest article, I Am Learning How to Live a Softer Life by navigating to the reblogged snippet below. Please comment, share, and like on the original post.
I hope you enjoy it!
Category: Featured Writer
when others see you in TV characters
This Body I Carry Is Changing Me
Kathy Garland, such an amazing asset to this WordPress community, has published my article about my experience with perimenopause so far. I am honored to be hosted at “Navigating the Change.” Please venture over and give the article a read. Thank you in advance!
Most women have no clue what our bodies can and cannot do.
I was never taught that my body would turn on me at the drop of a dime as soon as I celebrated a certain age — 39, to be exact. I had zero understanding of all that I began experiencing until I started doing research on my own. It is baffling and utterly mind-blowing the changes a woman must go through in order to feel settled and secure in the body she carries.
I wish someone would have said to me when I was in my 20s, “Listen, baby girl... now that you’ve reached this age, let me tell you what to expect when you get to your late 30s and early 40s. The proverbial shit will hit the fan, and everything you have become familiar with on and in your body will change in…
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Featured Poem of the Week
Florence Wanjiku is an exceptional writer with a voice that cannot be matched. She is purposeful in her presentation with her work and she is also rather explicit with details. When she emailed me finally (we’d talked previously about her being a writer for A Cornered Gurl) to say she was ready to jump aboard, I had to hide my insane amount of giddiness. I mean, truth be told, I’ve got a writer’s crush on her words, so I am happy to host them in ACG. Florence’s debut piece, “A black woman’s body” (is vogue) is killing it on Medium and I am sure it’ll do the same here as well. So, without further ado, Ms. Wanjiku, everyone . . .
A black woman’s body
is vogue
They manufacture parts
of a black woman’s body.
Place her under knife and chain
and watch how naturally anesthetic she is.
A dose of her melanin eludes pain, suffering,
and loss
The attraction to her otherness
has always been so intoxicating
Her soil forms the earth
making mountains, deserts
and streams places in which her
body has traveled
or being left to dry when she can’t
ward off bees for wanting to colonize
and steal her nectar.
Her body will put women under knife and pain
just to look like her
Her lips didn’t always seem so appealing
but of late they make billionaires out of lip kits
Her skin didn’t always seem so appealing
but of late makes economies
out of spray tans and tanning salons.
Her body has been hated, paraded, used and abused
It was once used to justify why black women
don’t make Vogue
but now, they are Instyle,
they are the Covergirl.
Now, they manufacture parts of a black woman’s
body and place them as crowns on others.
Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.
Featured Poem of the Week
Erica Hu is a lovely poet who presents in-depth storytelling, vivid imagery, and bold phrasing in her work. I have been reading her for quite some time on Medium and was excited to receive an email from her to become a part of the A Cornered Gurl team. She graced us with an awesome debut poem in October, however, this poem below is the one I want to feature. The tone of it is inviting and is a reflection of the author speaking of her grandfather. In short, it’ll pull at your heartstrings. And now, the featured poem, Old Radio.
Old Radio
for my yéyé (grandpa)
“When the old radio stopped working,
no one knew what to do.”
“And that’s okay,” he says,
“with half a pint of whisky,
I can be on my way.”
Wrinkles on his hand
grow like wild ivy on brownstone.
So at the age of eight,
I started practicing farewell.
Fearing the loss of recognition,
I take pictures of his green vest,
tai-chi shirt,
birthday cakes,
praying
he stays the same.
But now,
on the westward train,
I’ve lost my mind
thinking about returning
to a place with light
but no truth
and how time is an open wound
that neither festers nor heals.
“It’s not that bad,”
he says,
“after I close my eyes,
at least,
for the first time,
there’s no need to worry about dinner tomorrow.”
Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.
A Cornered Gurl 
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