Opal Palmer Adisa
me was, after all, in me own house, in me own bed in the darkness of night and although me was alone me was being quiet with my middle finger of my right hand rubbing the nub of my clitoris while my left fingers tweaked my nipples and my mind was in an elevator sandwiched between two men one on his knees going down on me and the other with his groin gyrating on my arse when the voices barged into the privacy of my self-pleasure and hollered out loud enough for my next door neighbor to hear
is wha dis we see-in is wha a really gwane here
yuu forget how old you be yu is somebody granny
and you a gwane so but hold up stop it now
yu hear stop it yu too old fi still want sex
me so frighten me finger freeze poised on my clitoris but the orgasm gone the feeling raw inside me me want bawl me want curse even the two men inside me head freeze too me a look pan them trapped tongues and hands and mouth useless like cut out figures but you see now you see my crosses wha age ahfi do wid pleasure what age have to do with sex so me is seventy and me have 4 grands whom me love but as me tell me son and daughter who think whenever them want them can drop them off that me is not that kind of grandmother me done wipe bottom and clean nose done me get me nails manicure every two weeks cannot be in the water or running behind little people me work out four days a week at the gym
me still have needs but now them damn voice loud loud like them want to expose me like them think my private desire is anyone business
is not like me sitting down in half way tree park with all the other mad people and illegal vendors with me legs spread and a dildo dangling between me legs a tell yu you see if cut eye did work the voices would be split in two like how the lighting split that lignuvitae tree clean down the middle
but me not bad-minded me nuh cuss nor like being inna contention so me close me eyes tight draw the cover up to me neck clap the pillow between me legs and tun me back to the voices mek them gwane like dem is police or the sex monitor bout me old dem much older than me truth be told them older than time itself and time well old but mek then gwane even though me mother dead me memba what she used to say to me time longa dan rope
me gwame silent them damn voices with me back dem lucky a don’t have chamber pot or me would fill it with piss and dash it in them face damn fas and out of order the voices dem acting like the gestapo more like the ton-ton macoute
many people have this weird notion that when you get to a “certain” age —old age—for some that certain feelings and desires go dormant or forgotten
but 20 or 70 me is still woman and the same longing come down strong on me
and is try hard me ahfi try hard to not gwame bad push a firm young man against a wall and grind him until him buddy hard like rock stone
but me is woman and dem would laugh and cuss and say is what mad this old woman mek she a gwane so but a man my age and older can parade a girl younger than him granddaughter and eberyone look on with envy even though every woman over forty who have had a man over forty know nuh matter how you grind such a man him buddy might stand up but it nah stand up long enough fi please yu
the voice them fold them hand push out them mouth and listen to what me a say inna my head me can feel them listening and me know them a wait for the right time fi jump pan me me brace meself
yu best shet yu mouth if yu know what good fah yu the voice them finally say a see how them chest a heave like when man vex vex and him can’t see notten but him bruised ego so him tek up de machete fi chop up even lizard that cross him path so me stop think anything inna me head afta me nuh idiot de voice them stand up around me bed like soldier pan duty them chest a heave like full pot a boil ova
me close me eyes tight tight and soon sleep come snoring out all de voices
but what them don’t know is that me back in the elevator and the man dem not cut out anymore and me finger unfreeze.
Image credit: Poster for Maya Cozier’s latest project, “She Paradise.”
Opal Palmer Adisa is living her life full out, basking in the sun, meditating on the blue mountains from her veranda and just being grateful for each moment and each day. With twenty published titles to her credit, she looks forward to the holiday release of her children’s book, Dance Quadrille and Play Quelbe and is putting the finishing touches on her poetry/prose collection, Returning to Return, and her photo/prose on Haiti, entitled, Stand.