Thursday, April 4, 2013

Self-Assertion by Ayla Rogers


Self-Assertion
From the day I was born, I’ve heard them say
I’ve little choice—our lives were built this way
My very body, purpose predisposed
Another’s means, for ends I won’t suppose

Since that birthing I’ve yearned for something more
I could not be your toy, your pet, your whore

For years I kept this woman under wraps
Where no one could exhume her—buried deep
But all the while my energy she saps
Suckling like the child I can’t bear to keep

So I’ll refuse to be held down unless
The force can all me truly by my name
It’s not entropy feared, no, not the mess
But order which so fiercely molds and maims
For often I’ve enjoyed chaos caress
Me free from all the damnings of the dame

Still it’s a sin I know I must confess
That night fall resurrects the horrid game
It’s hide-and-seek, it’s Trouble, and it’s chess
Hungry Hippos, Sorry, Chance I guess
The moves, the plays are every bit the same

I will not wait in line another turn
My obstinance becomes a steady burn

I will not rest this bust upon the shelf
Collecting dust and trinkets ‘round my neck
For gold and jewels amount to paltry wealth   
When choking is the first card in the deck
To overturn, to find a better hand
I’d form a fist if only to save face
I’d sail to new, to virgin fertile land
Forever finding solace in the chase 

                                                                                                                                                                   

Early Elegy: Headmistress
by Claudia Emerson
The word itself: prim, retired, its artifact
her portrait above the fireplace, on her face
the boredom she abhorred, then perfected,
her hands held upward—their emptiness
a revision, cigarette and brandy snifter
painted, intolerably, out, to leave her this
lesser gesture: What next? or shrugged Whatever.
From the waist down she was never there.

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