The Honeycomb Collective

They asked
if you are like the moon
or the trees.

I said no,
she is like the bridge
when there is so much traffic
I have time
to watch the boats
on the river.

-excerpt from Martin Espada’s “The Mexican Cabdriver’s Poem for His Wife, Who Has Left Him”

This wonderful simile, drawn from something so simple, so every day, influenced me to look into my own everyday:

It led me to jot down a couple of my own similes related to women based on my experience of working. They’re mostly terrible, whether intentionally or not.

“She’s like my cup of 8am coffee–warm, inviting, nice to wake up to. And hot. Oh, and black.”

“She spoke about everything in her life like it was morning traffic–she was stuck in it, and oblivious to the fact that she was part of the problem.”

“Her smile was like a fluorescent light–uncomfortably bright and unnatural.”

“She’s like a stapler, biting down as hard as she can just to keep it all together.”

“She’s like the thumbtacks on my cubicle wall–colorful, sharp, but ultimately…tacky.”

“She was like that tree that I looked at with hope outside the office window–so close, but the few feet screamed of our distance.”

“Her scent danced around me in wisps and traces, like the fumes from the dry erase markers–intoxicating, alluring, all while smelling like feet.”