The infertility-kit

I’m not yours, birds sing
Your hairdresser, mummy says
Your Ophelia, your Julia
And this also means that I’m
Not your cosmic admirer

After the glimpse
Of the grotesque
Laughing carcass
Turn away from it
The Bostonians

Are marching –
They are all
Calling out to me
Lowell, Sexton,
Plath, psychoanalysis

I have a child’s heart
The impressions of a child
The intelligence of a detached
Cold woman who can
Still feel the cruel blood

Of family, of mummy,
Preparation for upheaval
Chaos and disorder
Has been prescribed for me
Long ago

What is relaxation?
What is warmth?
All I know of the world
Is ego and sacrifice
Women must always be sacrificing

Nurturing and care-taking
It is impossible for them
For men to understand
Women can be poets too
And celebrate life

In the end it will either be
A case study of who was the most stimulating
Who was the most attractive?
But I was the one who was obsolete
For all my childhood years – imprisoned
And in the end I just gave up.

Speak Your Mind


Notify me of followup comments via e-mail. You can also subscribe without commenting.