111 Gender and feminism poems

A Sestina You who are happy in a thousand homes, Or overworked therein, to a dumb peace; Whose souls are wholly centered in the life Of that small group you personally love; Who told you that you need not know or care About the sin and sorrow of the world? Do you believe the sorrow of the world Does not concern you in your little homes? — That you are licensed to avoid the care And toil for human progress, human peace, And the enlargement of our power of love Until it covers every field of life? The one first duty of all human life Is to promote the progress of the world In righteousness, in wisdom, truth and love; And you ignore it, hidden in your homes, Content to keep them in uncertain peace, Content to leave all else without your care. Yet you are mothers! And a mother's care Is the first step toward friendly human life. Life where all nations in untroubled peace Unite to raise the standard of the world And make the happiness we seek in homes Spread everywhere in strong and fruitful love. You are content to keep that mighty love In its first steps forever; the crude care Of animals for mate and young and homes, Instead of pouring it abroad in life, Its mighty current feeding all the world Till every human child can grow in peace. You cannot keep your small domestic peace Your little pool of undeveloped love, While the neglected, starved, unmothered world Struggles and fights for lack of mother's care, And its tempestuous, bitter, broken life Beats in upon you in your selfish homes. We all may have our homes in joy and peace When woman's life, in its rich power of love Is joined with man's to care for all the world.

Wife and servant are the same, But only differ in the name: For when that fatal knot is tied, Which nothing, nothing can divide: When she the word obey has said, And man by law supreme has made, Then all that’s kind is laid aside, And nothing left but state and pride: Fierce as an Eastern prince he grows, And all his innate rigour shows: Then but to look, to laugh, or speak, Will the nuptial contract break. Like mutes she signs alone must make, And never any freedom take: But still be governed by a nod, And fear her husband as a God: Him still must serve, him still obey, And nothing act, and nothing say, But what her haughty lord thinks fit, Who with the power, has all the wit. Then shun, oh! shun that wretched state, And all the fawning flatt’rers hate: Value your selves, and men despise, You must be proud, if you’ll be wise.

My bonsai teacher says to quit doing it like a girl. I’m pruning the root-ball of a Podocarpus, or Buddhist pine, trained semicascade. The first time Dad fell, the femur broke in eleven places due to his artificial knee (titanium and steel). A rod screwed to the bones in thirteen places didn’t work, and the graft stayed weak. For two years he fought his wheelchair into near submission. The grand finale was him riding it down two flights of stairs without tipping over or falling out. The nurses loved him. The last time I called tech help I got George in Salt Lake, at work at six in the morning their time. He was very helpful. I offered to write a note for his file, but he said,It’s OK, Chase. Your compliment is enough.

This is about the women of that country Sometimes they spoke in slogans They said We patch the roads as we patch our sweetheart’s trousers The heart will stop but not the transport They said We have ensured production even near bomb craters Children let your voices sing higher than the explosions of the bombs They said We have important tasks to teach the children that the people are the collective masters to bear hardship to instill love in the family to guide the good health of the children (they must wear clothing according to climate) They said Once men beat their wives now they may not Once a poor family sold its daughter to a rich old man now the young may love one another They said Once we planted our rice any old way now we plant the young shoots in straight rows so the imperialist pilot can see how steady our hands are In the evening we walked along the shores of the Lake of the Restored Sword I said   is it true?   we are sisters? They said   Yes, we are of one family

I Whoever despises the clitoris despises the penis Whoever despises the penis despises the cunt Whoever despises the cunt despises the life of the child. Resurrection music,        silence,        and surf. II No longer speaking Listening with the whole body And with every drop of blood Overtaken by silence But this same silence is become speech With the speed of darkness. III Stillness during war, the lake. The unmoving spruces. Glints over the water. Faces, voices.        You are far away. A tree that trembles. I am the tree that trembles and trembles. IV After the lifting of the mist after the lift of the heavy rains the sky stands clear and the cries of the city risen in day I remember the buildings are space walled, to let space be used for living I mind this room is space this drinking glass is space whose boundary of glass lets me give you drink and space to drink your hand, my hand being space containing skies and constellations your face carries the reaches of air I know I am space my words are air. V Between        between the man : act        exact woman : in curve        senses in their maze frail orbits, green tries,           games of stars shape of the body speaking its evidence VI I look across at the real vulnerable        involved        naked devoted to the present of all I care for the world of its history leading to this moment. VII Life the announcer. I assure you there are many ways to have a child. I bastard mother promise you there are many ways to be born. They all come forth in their own grace. VIII Ends of the earth join tonight with blazing stars upon their meeting. These sons,        these sons fall burning into Asia. IX Time comes into it. Say it.        Say it. The universe is made of stories, not of atoms. X Lying blazing beside me you rear beautifully and up— your thinking face— erotic body reaching in all its colors and lights— your erotic face colored and lit— not colored body-and-face but now entire, colors       lights       the world thinking and reaching. XI The river flows past the city. Water goes down to tomorrow making its children        I hear their unborn voices I am working out the vocabulary of my silence. XII Big-boned man young and of my dream Struggles to get the live bird out of his throat. I am he am I?        Dreaming? I am the bird am I?        I am the throat? A bird with a curved beak. It could slit anything, the throat-bird. Drawn up slowly.        The curved blades, not large. Bird emerges        wet        being born Begins to sing. XIII My night awake staring at the broad rough jewel the copper roof across the way thinking of the poet yet unborn in this dark who will be the throat of these hours. No.        Of those hours. Who will speak these days, if not I, if not you?

I don't want my legs to show I don't    want my legs    to show that I'm willing instead I ripped my skirt off the first story     (in which I am featured) my mother having forgotten the wooden clothespins which were my usual toys     not having them to gum & grip     instead I ripped my skirt off say    I'm willing more than    so I'm too    willing so say so more than say so much    than I'm willing to    say I don't want my legs to show    but my breasts are available      not motion but gravity     the steadfast pounding not motion    not pavement the pounding the skirt is the uniform    grey & sullen     in school    refusing to hold a pleat     wet wool on iron steaming     flung after lying in snow thighs red & icy sitting for yearbook pictures smart girls    honor    society our white panties showing every one if I show you my legs won’t you see that I’m leaving all life is a leaning slow dancing      eyes closed arms raised around his neck each girl     a view for some other girl’s partner they are not the feature    the breasts hide the heart or disclose it    the legs hide the opening the skirt hides the legs disguise enclosure in clothes my mother couldn't understand why I wouldn't wear a slip when standing in the light the outline of my legs shone the skirt matters    although it is see- through fear is a by-product do not be dissuaded this made more sense than that division into love & fear I began to see fear as a curtain    a scrim substantive as light evasive & theatrical but light     as a curtain it need not be skirted a skirt may be ripped    shredded or moved easily aside it need not be violated it can be adjusted

A woman with a burning flame Deep covered through the years With ashes.  Ah! she hid it deep, And smothered it with tears. Sometimes a baleful light would rise From out the dusky bed, And then the woman hushed it quick To slumber on, as dead. At last the weary war was done The tapers were alight, And with a sigh of victory She breathed a soft—good-night!

Man’s rich with little, were his judgment true, Nature is frugal, and her wants are few; Those few wants answer’d, bring sincere delights, But fools create themselves new appetites: Fancy and pride seek things at vast expence, Which relish not to reason nor to sense. When surfeit, or unthankfulness, destroys, In nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys, In fancy's airy land of noise and show, Where nought but dreams, no real pleasures grow; Like cats in air-pumps, to subsist we strive On joys too thin to keep the soul alive.

Isn’t it shocking how he speaks for her? His thin voice wavering across the restaurant — she’ll have the cod artichoke bake. A giggle of  bubbles comes from behind them: a fish tank curtained with seagrass where a seahorse is tying itself to one of those slim, tweedy forms like a hand shaping itself  inside another’s the way my hand tucks into his like a difference pretending it’s not.

After the first sex, there is no other. I stick my gender in a blender and click send. Voilà! Your new ex-girlfriend. You cuckold me with your husband. I move a box with Ludacris. The captain turns on, we begin our descent. Be gentle with me, I’m new to this. I say the wrong thing. I have OCD. My obsessive compulsions are disorderly. I say the wrong thing, did I already say? I drive my dominatrix away. The coyote drives her in a false-bottomed van. He drops her in the desert. The bluffs are tan. She’ll get a job at Chili’s picking up butts. I feel ya, Ophelia, I say to my nuts. And there is pansies. That’s for thoughts.