#Americans #Jews #Women
Rising in the morning like warm bread, from a bed in America, the aroma
The lover in these poems is me; the doctor, Love. He appears
We have a small sculpture of H… Nothing would surprise him. The beast in the jungle was what h… Edith Wharton’s obfuscating older… He fled the demons
Cement up to the neck & my head packed with unsaid words. A gullet full of pebbles, a mouth
Endless duplication of lives and o… —Theodore Roethke I have known the imperial power of… the awesome indifference of recept… I have been intimidated by desk &a…
‘Death is our eternal companion,’… —Carlos Castaneda My death looks exactly like me. She lives to my left,
Because she wants to touch him, she moves away. Because she wants to talk to him, she keeps silent. Because she wants to kiss him,
The first snow of the year & you lying between my breasts in my husband’s house & the snow gently rising in my… like guilt,
Dearest man-in-the-moon, ever since our lunch of cheese & moonjuice on the far side of the sun, I have walked the craters of New…
If it is only for the taking off– the velvet cloak, the ostrich feather boa, the dress which slithers to the fl… with the sound of strange men sigh…
I am in love with my womb & jealous of it. I cover it tenderly with a little pink hat (a sort of yarmulke)
On the first night of the full moon, the primeval sack of ocean broke, & I gave birth to you
Old bag of bones upside down, what are you searching for in poetry, in meditation?
I am the Sphinx. I am the woman buried in sand up to her chin. I am waiting for an archaeologist to unearth me,
After the teach-in we smeared the walls with our solidarity, looked left, & saw Marx among the angels,