Sunday May 12th // Filed under: kim addonizio, what do women want?, poetry,by Kim Addonizio
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
even in friendly conversation
I get the bell hooks-ian urge
to kill mother-fuckers who say stupid shit to me
bitter branches of things I cannot say out loud
sprout deviant from my neck
fuck you for wanting to talk about homophobia
while you exploit the desperation of undocumented immigrants
to clean your hallways
bathe your children and cook your dinner
for less than you and I spend on our tax deductible lunch!
I want to scream
all oppression is connected you dick!
In the spring of the last year
we were together,
I walked your niece to the playground
down the block from your brother’s house.
There was sun and moss.
I pushed her on the swings,
sprang from bent knees on the teeter-totter,
climbed with her over the monkey bars.
We sat together then
on a long stretch of a railroad tie
at the base of the playground, near the creek.
We were careful of the splinters.
She asked me if I loved you and I said yes.
She asked if we were going to get married and I laughed.
Not a gleeful laugh, nor one of spite, just a giggle
as wickedly innocent as each of her seven years.
I don’t know, I said,
that’s up to your uncle.
Jeanann Verlee (from Racing Hummingbirds, 2010)Sunday May 5th // Filed under: jeanann verlee, the worst thing i ever taught a girl, poetry, racing hummingbirds,
Friday May 3rd // Filed under: commonvente, shinji moon, poetry,
What are you doing liking my poetry when these people exist here? My thoughts aren’t as beautiful in comparison. And I’m forgetting many — I know — but here is a small, slight compilation of the blogs of poets/writers who post predominantly their own words —