Til Death Do Us, and: How Should One De[con]struct a Woman?

52 Michelle Esmailian Til Death Do Us My phallocentric dominating male how I've loved you, trembling beneath your weight, the open window's chill drawing our breath. We lie in perfect opposition now. The history of your thighs flanking mine becomes my story. Listen to my life. After we touch, we rise to take our roles. I smooth the sheets. You button a white shirt. How Should One De[con]struct a Woman? Dear Simone de Beauvoir: since Derrida killed God, I no longer know who to believe. Can you lead me through the minefield? I ordered Showalter's dissection kit, to discover my female "essence" but you say women are constructed, without essence. Should I return my speculum? Do only non-poststructuralist feminists have souls? I don't think Cixous can help me much: I'm duped, domestic, and when I touch myself, my hands become my lover's hands whispering there's something naturally beautiful about the way our bodies fit together Am I a lost cause, an unconscious patriarchal backlash? Cixous lectures in an ermine coat, while I iron my daughter's dresses. ...