Lesbian Tea Party by Christine Stoddard

Prim Carolyn never claimed 'bellehood' in this beauty imbued neighborhood where all
the pretty girls steal away to lewdly kiss their select cutie boys in deep gardens after school.
She, the bull (with hair that tufts out like horns, and cool lips, and nostrils unsuitable for ringing)
prefers to remain unknown, despite her penchant for quietly singing to herself, as she walks
to the corner store, where she always steps in, nearly chiming, "Back for more of that Earl Gray!"
And the shopkeeper pushes up his eyeglasses and sniffs, "Oh, you're back again today, Carolyn?"
Five minutes later, Carolyn is brewing tea in the shade of her cramped little kitchen, still singing.
She does not pretend to spend her afternoons holed up in azalea bushes, bitty breasts bouncing
at the hurried hands of masculine fervency that never distinguishes between whispers and whooshes.
Carolyn awaits the lacquered nails tapping at the window, the ones so undeniably feminine in grooming.
Carolyn awaits her chance at swooning and spooning, her chance for the quivering flower within her
to begin blooming at the sight of--not sunlight--but fingers tipped with rhinestones and magenta polish.
Never does she imagine her desires for love and romance being demolished--not now, not anymore,
not after a thousand-and-one girls have denied her India ink letters and pressed dandelions before.
Rejection could not blossom in an eternity, not between a lace-and-pigtails hungry teacher and a
shy and willing child just beginning to analyze the black mystique of womanhood, in any case.
"Miss Church loves me. Miss Church loves me. Miss Church loves me now and forever and--"
Never does Carolyn expect to turn around at the sound of nails attacking the glass and not see
the lady who first spoke to her about Toni Morrison and Sula or the lovely Princesse de Cleves.
Never does Carolyn expect to turn around at the sound of nails attacking the glass and not see
the lady who first sipped her tea and exclaimed at its deliciousness instead of calling it a joke
or complaining about the latest laddy who broke her heart before Christmas or Valentine's Day.
Never does Carolyn expect to turn around at the sound of nails attacking the glass and not see
the lady who promised her that their lesbian tea parties were really, oh, really more than okay.