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My Secret Privilege
by Aqsa Khalid I know of a safe space Where only I perform Where only I am the spectator Where only I have the power To stare at myself… Where I can let out My tear drops and my frowning My dance and my swaying My drama and my resolutions But remember, This secret about…
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Oh! what a pleasure it must be!
by Aisha Usman I daydream all day long about a few things, And sitting on a toilet is among one of them. My feet are sore and heels torn, from squatting uncomfortably when nature calls, on uneven terrain, jagged rocks and pointing thorns. Why can’t I have access to those clean stalls or public lavatories?…
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W.C.
by Affonso Romano De Sant’anna (from The body-object and other examples, No.10) Translated by Lloyd Schwartz You are the end of house of man of poem the ultimate remnant of the ultimate remnant. Seated in the rounded white nook of the commodious accommodation You wait incommodious intestine You receive mute, naked the integral verb (aquatic…
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I AM NOT RUDE IF I LIKE CLEAN ENVIRONMENT
by Saman Maham I didn’t ask too much Just clean drinking water and lunch When you were draining your waste into the river Drinking water from that river made me shiver I asked you to dispose your waste in the toilet But then you got rude and violent I just wanted to keep the environment…
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First Lessons of Decolonization
By Magdalena Gómez Attempts to torch were made. Firefighters fought back every time. The building, big, dense, well built like the tenants, refused to fall. We’d been through a lot worse. Mami grew up in a shanty town raised on wobbly stilts over open sewage colonialism’s backhoes dug toilets of diphtheria, malaria, dysentery efficient ethnic…
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Roses are Red
By Milana Roses are red Violets are blue I have to go Because I just had a Starbucks Cold Brew This piece is from The Feminist Toilet #2. To return to the table of contents, click here.
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For You, I’d Pick Up Your Poo
By Sammy Ginsberg In the alley by the Rite Aid on Sherman Way in an act of love with a gloved hand I collected human poop into trash bags. It was hard like an overcooked brownie thank you LA sunshine and I was not alone others who cared make neighborhood beautiful wondering who in desperation…
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Lost It
By Traci O’Dea Il suffit que je sois bien Malheureuse pour avoir Droit a votre bien-vaillance -from J.L. David. Marat Assassiné. 1793. His left hand hangs, not unlike Marat’s right hand, outside the tub. The wedding band slips off and rings against the hardwood, pauses, then rolls away beyond the brass clawed feet. To no…
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Ode de Toilet
By Jen Cheng I can’t live without you I need you morning and night you know, the kind of purification and meditation that starts my day just right when I miss our private morning ritual I am filled with anxiety, praying for a way to make it up to you when I’m without you, I…
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Untitled
By Asha I hope the uncertainty of yourself doesn’t end when you’re lying with the rocks you choose to breathe instead of fresh air. Your touch is unfamiliar as if your dna melted away with what you set on fire. I’ve been trying to keep you awake. Don’t fall asleep to avoid saying goodbye. This…