Poem? I'm so there!
Oct. 16th, 2004 05:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sereneOne is supposed, I gather, to post a poem upon seeing this post. Do so if you like. I'd love to see them.
Here's mine:
The Friend
by Marge Piercy
We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?
Here's mine:
The Friend
by Marge Piercy
We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-10-16 05:36 pm (UTC)i first found it in an anthology. that i lost and can't remember the name of.
:)
marge rocks my socks!
no subject
Date: 2004-10-16 05:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-16 06:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-16 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-16 07:08 pm (UTC)Yay for this poem! :)
that poem of hers always goes with this one in my head:
Date: 2004-10-16 07:52 pm (UTC)Beware institutions begun with a purge,
beware buildings that require the bones
of a victim under the cornerstone, beware
sacrifice, watch out for marriages
that start with a divorce
To break a champagne bottle over the prow
of a boat is prodigal but harmless; to break
a promise, a friendship much more exciting
(champagne doesn’t squeal) ; but doesn’t
the voyage require a lot of sightseeing
and loot to justify that splatter?
Give it up for me, she says, give him
up, giver her up, look only in my eyes
and let me taste my power in their anguish.
How much do you love me? Let me count
the corpses as my cat brings home mangled
mice to arrange on my doormat like hors d’oeuvres.
But you know nobody dies of such executions.
Your discarded friends are drinking champagne
and singing off key just as if they were happy
without you. One person’s garbage is another’s
new interior decorating scheme. If she is your
whole world, how quickly the sun sets now.
--Marge Piercy
no subject
Date: 2004-10-17 01:15 pm (UTC)