A lady’s unmentionables are such
Because they are what leave the
Individual at her most vulnerable.
Alluring in their mysterious, hidden
Nature, sight of them is everything
To be desired—leaving little to the
Imagination.
The suspense is deafening, yet relished by
A desirer in all that it is—and it is a heapful.
But let us remove this sensual connotation from the word.
Let us take the word for what it inherently is: not mentionable.
Things to not grace the shape of one’s mouth or ride the waves of the
Sinewy tongue; conniving, yet purposeful in its actions; placing weight in
All that it produces; contriving stories of lust and violence and bliss and agony.
Unmentionables are meant to be
Pieces of fabric strewn across the
Most treasured, private sculptures
preserving their sacredness.
My unmentionables are, unlike fabric,
Intangible. They wear me, not I them.
Rather than protect and preserve, they
Expose; instead of providing another
Layer to insulate me in brisk climates,
They strip me bare, vulnerable to the
Unwavering cold.
They frighten those who stay long enough
To catch a glimpse at that bottom layer,
Underneath all that is melded
Into a carefully constructed
Facade.
Please don’t be afraid.
Madeline Haefele is a first year student at the University of Connecticut pursuing a double major in Philosophy and Political Science with a minor in American Sign Language and Deaf Culture on the Pre-Law Track. Beginning to write in fifth grade with the support of her teacher, she has since found great comfort in poetry and hopes she can share that with the rest of the world through her writing.
