Allison Fradkin

Allison Fradkin (she/her) delights in creating poetry, prose, and plays that (sur)pass the Bechdel Test. An enthusiast of inclusivity and accessibility, Fradkin serves as Artistic Director of traveling theatre troupe Mosaic Players, curating historical plays that champion social justice, human rights, and equality; and as Dramatist for Special Gifts Theatre, adapting scripts that celebrate actors of all abilities. Allison's auxiliary activities include vintage shopping, volunteering, and tending to her thespian tendencies.

You know something?

I got sand. 

That’s why I came to the beach. 

I heard they were running low. Heh.

Speaking of hearing things, 

I wish I had some tunes. 

That tribute to transformation, “I Am Changing,” 

would really hit the spot right now. 

Well, not the sore spot.

But I don’t mind listening to the sound of my own voice. 

I never really noticed it before, but it’s…present. 

Pleasant. Much more mellifluous 

than something off of your Greatest Hits album, 

which includes such scintillating singles as 

“Diss You Much,” 

“Proud Marry in Haste, Repent at Leisure,” 

and the pièce de no résistance, 

“You Can’t Stop the Beatdown.”

Except I can. I did. 

I stopped the beatdown. 

You knew my motto: 

Batterer up, three strikes I’m out. 

You’ll never have the pleasure of seeing me cry anymore. 

Or the pain of seeing me smile. 

In fact, you won’t see me any kind of way, ever again. 

See, you thought our song went: 

I’m tellin’ you from the start 

I can’t be torn apart from my guy. 

But see, that is unapologetically uninspiring. 

So on my album, the song goes:

I’m tellin’ you from the start

I can’t be torn apart by my guy.

I know the first time leaving is the hardest—

first is the worst and all that—

but once you go black-and-blue, 

you—I—never go back. 

So you might think that this is one of those 

“If at first you don’t succeed, 

try, try again” initiatives, 

that they call it escapism because 

it’s nothing but a fantasy. 

But I know something you don’t: 

I can take the y off “emergency” 

and put an e there instead, 

and then I’ve earned 

a resurgence of emergence.

Words to live by. 

Which is why I’m going to beat the odds 

my first time out. 

Well, maybe not beat ’em, 

but overcome just sounds so 

underwhelming. 

I got guts for days. 

Weeks, months, and beyond. 

I can’t take all the credit for my courage though. 

Got to give gratitude to Sofia

—from The Color Purple, 

not The Golden Girls. 

Her song “Hell No,” 

about refusing 

to be cruising 

for a bruising, 

is what got me to make tracks in the first place. 

A person hears something often enough, 

she starts to believe it. 

She starts to repeat it. Out loud. 

I’d croon, you’d cringe—and criticize: 

I know why the caged bird sings. 

She’s a Maya Ange-loser. 

Come on now, don’t pout. 

You know I’m only teasing, 

and still I get a rise out of you.

And what did I ever get out of you? 

Nothing but another bouquet of your 

sorry-not-sorry-ass flowers, 

the kind perfect for playing 

that time-honored game of 

He Shoves Me, He Shoves Me Not. 

That’s right—I’m playing games without you, 

and guess what? 

I can identify ’em. 

None of that baseless accusation B.S. 

What games was I ever playing with you, huh? 

Trouble? 

Aggravation? 

Pac-Man?

Well, since you neglected to specify, 

I picked my own game to play: 

Pack-Your-Bags-and-Leave-That-Man, 

where every woman’s a winner. 

Now that’s something to sing about: 

He’s got no power 

No power no more 

Over me. 

Formerly sung by The Exciters, 

presently sung by The Exiters. 

When did I get to be so 

infuriatingly inspirational? 

Must be when I realized that 

I am the wind beneath my 

uncaged wings, that 

underneath the coat of war paint 

I applied to the bruises 

was a brave face 

just waiting to be put on. 

Someday, even when those bruises 

are gone but not forgotten, 

they’ll still be souvenirs of survival, 

and they’ll still be a sore spot. 

But now that I’m no longer under 

your skin, your thumb, or your spell, 

I can spell that word a little differently: 

s-o-a-r. 

Hell yes.