Sticks Lyrics

Alix Olson Sticks

“Welcome to the stick world,”
Mama whispers to her newborn baby girl
She admires the little toes, wriggling
Like plump pink ballerinas
Caresses the round belly
Places her palm under the fat behind
Envelops the chunky thighs
She strokes the tiny flat breasts
The Baby girl sighs
And mama begins her stick world lesson
Hushed and intent:
“We stick baby boys’ lips on our nipples-
To relieve them
Stick big boys inside our lips-
To relieve them
Suck until we swallow their stickiness
We tell our sons ‘only sticks and stones
Will break their bones,’
Then call each other bitch, knowing it sticks
More than hurled knuckles ever could
We are ignored when our butts stick out
Admired when our chests stick out
We chant ‘stick together, stick together’, until
Size six bitch walks by-
‘sick’, we whisper, menacingly, to each other
‘Stick’, we think, admiringly, to ourselves
We smoke cancer sticks, chew on
Spearmint sticks, chomp on
Carrot sticks, celery sticks
We crave stick-out collarbones, ribs-
When we cave in, stomachs sticking out
We stick our fingers down our throats
Fingernails caked underneath with years of
Lipsticks, eyebrow sticks, sticks to cover up
Red spots, white spots, black spots
As we stick to the advice in magazines-
Page one: waif, page two: ‘be you’, they croon
Page three: ‘I like a good listener’
Writes Joe from Rochester
So we smile and nod, sticky sweet
And stick jewel after jewel in our ear, so we
Swish and sway pleasantly when we turn our heads
To hear what they have to say
We stick on eyelashes
Lower our eyes in their direction-
Suggestive eyes, bedroom eyes, ‘she wanted it’ eyes
So they stick it in, stick it out-
When we protest
We are stuck up, a stick in the mud
We stick our fingers when we sew up
Our children’s ripped jeans
Our husbands’ ripped egos
We pat stick-it notes on the fridge
Reminding our sons of baseball practice
Reminding our daughters to
Stick to their diets
We ooo and aahh over Suzy’s stick figure scene
The last in a series of self-portraits
And if we are the kind, honey
Who like to stick up into each other
We stick out-- warped Eves
And even with our combat boots we crumble like pick-up
Sticks sometimes, away from each other, and crooked.”
Mama wipes her eyes, mascara marring
Her Oil of Olay face
She lifts her daughter’s mouth to her nipple
Rubs the padded back
Peers into the clear eyes-
So satisfied, belly full
“‘I don’t want you sticking flowers
On my grave, baby girl,’”
Mama says
‘with the weight of the world
On your stick shoulders
Crying
And not ever knowing why.’”