I cried at the breakfast table this morning
As my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"

This past semester I wrote two papers

One, a fire and brimstone sermon
          I quoted Anais Nin
          sending the creators of sexist commercials to hell
          "Damn them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
          For the women they portrayed were doormats
          Misconceptions
          Monsters

The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
           No longer confined to the kitchen
           they dropped ballots with their new freedom
           they wore short dresses and short tresses
           fingers wrapped around cigs
           they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
           they danced until their feet hurt
       
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership and not submission to man,

I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.

I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I weeped for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.

Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"

I was finally
happy with my womanhood.

Uterus, vagina, vulva, clitoris
they are mine.
Breasts free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.

mine.

I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.

I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.

a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.

I am woman

and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.

I am not rib.

I am Uterus, vagina, vulva, clitoris
Breasts free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,

I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.

Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,

for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.

this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation

could use a little music.

have a God,
be a deist instead
then marry me,
the mediocre Catholic.

let's have children,
let's not have children
because "Parents, they fuck you up."
but you'd make a great dad
I think
yes? no?
maybe?
and I'd make a great mom...
...sort of.

We'd love them (the children or child..whichever)
and we'd be weird
so they'd (or he or she..again, whichever) be weird
and their friends would say,
"Who the fuck are The Beatles?"

Eh...let's not get married
yet.
let's hold hands first
or be together a year
or get through one meal without having to giggle and look away
because I caught you staring at me
or was it me who was...never mind.

Now I'm studying my hands,
the ones you have not held,
the ones with the ugly, fat, stubby, unlady-like fingers
the same fingers you said you loved.

you're such an idiot sometimes.

Remember that time you said I was beautiful?
which time?
oh right, you've said it more than once;

you idiot.

Do you notice how when you're not looking at me
I stare at your face?
your eyes?
your lips?
your perfect lashes?
No?

good.

I should stop now.
see you soon,
you

idiot.

I feel the feeling of wanting to die,like standing on the edge of a high place;
glass elevator ascending
closer to heaven.  

as I read my book and look up
your eyes say,
"you are beautiful"
as shyly, they look away


I am ugly.

I am a monster with stubby fingers
a dead animal on my head
a screaming in my brain
marks on my face like dots splattered from broken ink


you said they looked like stars
and then you made me cry

I thought I'd never do that again.

I crack the glass under my feet
break through and fall,

hot wax dripping on my back
my shoulders
meat and bones, crashing
falling
drawing
closer to heaven.

As I was making my way to the kitchen
I dropped the cup I was holding
and it bounced on the floor, bangin in its wake
but still the sound did not fill the emptiness of this large room
on this lonely night

I miss you

I miss everything
anything
nothing

No face comes to mind
no moment, no place, no voice
only a feeling
a feeling that I was once whole.

I am broken now
like the shadows the trees' leaves cast
on my solitary walks

I am quiet now
or have I always been?

when you say you like someone else
I retaliate with silence and made up faces
of calm and i-could-care-less

"haha that's so funny"
smile
you're not thinking about this
you are not thinking about her
you are looking at his eyes
(stupid eyes that look at another's)
smile
don't grit your teeth
smile
oh he's holding your hand
did he hold her's like this too?

smile

get rid of that sarcastic face
he is looking at you
and he is holding your hand

smile.

You've eaten two chicken burgers in front of me

and the second time
I realized
you were beautiful.

That sounds stupid, but hear me out;
your eyes
they're perfect
your lashes are so delicate
like gossamer black frames of thin, long, lady's gloved fingers.
I sound crazy, I know
But I'm writing a poem about it
and Art is a license for madness;
So leave me be.
I'm stalking pictures of you on the webs
of the internet
But these golems
these flat, lifeless, smiles
leave me unsatisfied
None of them capture that moment
when I was
suspended
in a state of silent staring
like cobwebs in empty, abandoned room corners
hanging
quiet
undisturbed

your voice muted by the screaming
in your eyes

as you
romantically
perfectly
delicately
bit into that burger.

I wonder how I looked then.

You're not mine,
you're just the boy I love.
I want to keep you so bad
but I'm afraid of what it'll do to you.

I'm worth more than you're willing to pay
and no I did not mean that in the good way.

I know you think me a prize
I see it in your eyes,

I am a bottled promise
and you lick your lips

I am cyanide
take me in sips.

She's more than you're willing to pay
I mean that in a bad way.
She looks like a great prize
'specially with them eyes,
but trust me.

I'm a wounded bird, baby
and I'm never gonna fly.
So clip your wings, or wave them goodbye.

You're a burning fireball
and my waxen face's melting away.
You make me want to put make-up on
so beside you I can stay.

She's worth more than you're willing to pay
I mean that in the worst way
and you're gonna realize it someday
a little too late.

This'll all end soon enough.
This road less travelled is just a tad bit too rough.
So save your crisp, new Chuck Taylors
because trust me
the only difference I will make
is your stronger sense of longing
for that other road you didn't take.

Remember how we met?
Your eyes were tired with regret
And then I leaned in all smooth
Like a Cassanova doused in booze
"Why don't you rest those eyes of yours?
I hear green is a calming color
I'm green-minded; isn't that close enough?"

On our blanket of stars, bed of grass
"Do you like me?", I had to ask
And she says, "My love for you is like the moon
It waxes and it wanes"
You were driving me insane
"But I want.."
your lip quivered, my heart shivered
"I want to like you forever"

But baby wanting ain't the same
This girl is driving me insane
"Waxes and wanes"
That's just not good enough

We're the couple on the Grecian urn
Stuck in anticipation
But the kiss will never come
We'll cuddle and then some
but the heifer will always live
because you will never give
baby wanting ain't the same
wanting's just ain't good enough

Let me be the Bonnie to your Hyde
I can be the Z to your Scotty
Let's, let's ruin each other baby
Arms and fingers locked
Drugging the other down
We're two gnarled bodies, writhing on the ground

No morphine needed
We're both about the pain
Inhaling you fast
You're my line of pixie dust
I fly to fall down
Faith? Hope? I just need to suffer now.

You're the apple tree splinter
Poking my eye so I can't see.
The mirror on your door is me
And the fairest is anyone but you.
I'm your painting mr. Gray
Hide me in the attic; can't throw me away

Let's, let's ruin each other baby
Oh wait we already did or do.
These brass scales are getting heavy,
It's me for you

And do you hear that sound?
It's our siren lullaby.
We crash into each others'arms
Tied to each others' masts;
Drugging each other down
There's the frog and the water-sound.

We're one, we're done, well that was fun.

Right now you wear gray
a while ago it was blue
can you wear one color all day
so I can tell that it's you?

You're nowhere to be found
and there ain't no love around
it's a dark alley
and it has just rained
You make me want to drown

Barely leaving first impressions
on this night
when I dream I'm jailed
in another restless session
with Dr. Loneliness
On her couch I mutter
"If I'd apologized
or talked to you sooner
or forgot my stupid fear
or fought it
but I never"

It has just rained
and you make me want to drown

communal beer bottles
passing round
kisses
on moist necks and circular mouths

send in the rose-coloured pachyderms
I'm ready to sink or swim

My sense of time is paralyzed
10pm is 2am is midnight is dawn is yesterday is today
is our life together
is a nightmare is a dream

a dream that never was

palms are masks
that cover nothing
fingers, frustrated fishermen
combing dark waters, searching
for the uninhabited isle.

the tree stump pitifully trying
to grow,
melody of the typewriter,
the letter opener's song,
withered daisy in a plastic display,
hidden bookworm art
carved into dusty paperbacks,
overgrown, abandoned houses:
sleeping animal,
dormant jungle.

wet asphalt puddles of fallen sky

dead butterfly

blind blue eyes;

tragic, difficult, poetic
         you are

poetically
(unplayed piano furniture)







          useless.

Whoever said,
"Parting was such sweet sorrow"
obviously never meant/met
you

because

when you go
you take all the light with you

NO

not the light
for all light does is help one to see

what you have taken
is but every single shred of happiness
and
hope of ever getting these shreds back again.

Maybe it was Shakespeare?

How lucky he was then to have lived
and died
meeting only people he could bear
to part with

and how unfortunate
am
I.

Alone again in this four-room house;
the wind stagnant, like water.
empty beds
crumpled
from bodies that have long ago left.

On the table there is but one placemat
and eight chairs.

I have turned off all the lights
to look at myself
reflected
on the moon on my table.

I wish you were here

but you never are, never were.
you are a ghost
hiding behind words from far away.

It's been days of us reading
each other.
letters, commas, question
marks dancing
into a person.

I crane my neck to hear your voice
but there are only faint echoes,
like murmurs
from distant mountains.

There is a house on Trepidation Street
and it is where I have often lived.
You are beyond

a poem
you are beyond me
you are my fear in human form
because you are so many things I am not,

talented
intelligent
interesting.

you are what I've been looking for
and more,
it is this more that makes me fear
the distance
between us is further than my imperfection can take.

My own fear rests
in my occupation of this space
you've given me: between loving you
and wondering
if
you love me too.

or perhaps
in the realization
that no good poem will come to me untilyouleaveme
but I don't think any poem could be worth losing



you.

I’m talking to you
in my head

been cultivating this shyness
since I was three years old

talking to inanimate objects

painted smiles, rubber-skinned
metal frames
turning wheels

the family minivan kept me company
as mountains rose and fell
like held breaths
let go.
playing games with pregnant raindrops
rolling down the glass
obsessed with the shark’s fin triangle
the wipers could not
reach.

I’m obsessing over seeing you.

always trying to be invisible
your eyes beginning to skim past I,

they didn’t used too.

“The voices that once spoke love
but did not mean love.”
the withered rose living
in the trash,
abandoned friends in the attic
forgotten songs
unfinished books

I am the forgotten
I am the abandoned
I am the left behind

cobweb-and-cotton-dust-collector
the silence connoisseur
I wear loneliness like an unwashed favorite shirt

If I die
Will you read this?
Does anyone else think such things
or is Tonio Kroger my only brother?

I am Kafka’s cockroach,
everyone is waiting for me to die
or to change into what you want me to be.

my name will not be in the history books
by the time my children’s children will have children
I am no one.

Everything fades in this world
like whiteboard-marker on acetate lives.

Desolate corners and garbage
tell stories
art is vandalism, vandalism is art.
and people wear diamonds but they are worth nothing.
and babies inherit their father’s eyes.

I am not yours.

You are not mine.
Isn’t ownership objectification?
If a man owns a clock
does the clock own the man?

Let’s be
money and greed
or
greed and suffering.
one cannot survive
without…

Let’s be
the mismatched pyramids
of wealth and population
form a parallelogram
like bricks on an unstable wall
never falling down.

you are

gone
pounded footsteps unto the floor
keys clanging
on the bowl beside the door
crashing like mother's china.

still feel
your hand on the shelf,
my shoulder.
the shaking cupboard,
my heart

these the ghosts
the shadows
the flicker
of the wet-paint-traveler?

covered in reds and pinks and sunsets
dragged his colors,
streaked my insides,
marked my rib cage

or

is it the make up
once swallowed
attempting inner beauty?

wanted to change

but you told me to stay
the drab old wallpaper.

You left
and it looks like
ended up changing after all.

I am the broken binding
of a tattered book

many times opened, never
finished

edges brown
from fingers, passing

no notes on my borders
few sentences underlined

creases, plenty
mementos of 'come-back-to-read-you-later'
thin brown lines
like palms
all ready to break

Enter the space
of individuals-not-allowed.

bodies merge
knee to knee
shoulder to shoulder
face to face
thousand hands passing the silver faces
feeding the dark
fingernails of grime and engine heat.

Spewing out smoke

a moving temple,
a makeshift market,
a piece of art,

my nation's identity.

heavy faces
like rainwater
on tarpaulin ceilings

sinking into the meaningless
prose of daily life

cliched, cafe, journal writer
asking for someone
         to answer

the why.

and everyone is wearing earphones
         everyone

's an empty magazine
cover
stories
photos
colors, forms
edited,
          taken
from somewhere else

          we are no longer

ourselves.

thin, fat,
black bars
trapped
in a white box
          we willingly enter

reluctantly leave
           to feel
the joys of coming in
           
again.

There is an emptiness
inside me
consuming my peace.

we are.

abandoned shoes
in the middle of the sidewalk.

rusted metal
car casings,
ribs
where the washed clothes
dry.

painted graffiti
in a hidden place,

whispered secrets,
bottled letters
to the ocean's waves

we are the ocean

the ocean inside the seashell  
discarded pencil shavings at the nearby starbucks.

Unsteady hands
coarse, rusty locks
we are.

the staring blank spaces,
the screaming questions,
the tired voices,

they who do not speak.

we are

Distant bells start the day
the sun casts strips on blue-gray walls
cobwebs hanging lazily above
not strong enough to pull bodies
from beds
of hard wood and tiresome sleep

on the edge of this pencil, a poem
lazier
watching specs of dust
gracefully failing to fly

Early rising
needing more sand than most