“thighs cemented shut”


-Louise Glück
A woman exposed as rock
has this advantage:
she controls the harbor.
Ultimately, men appear,
weary of the open.
So terminates, they feel,
a story. In the beginning,
longing. At the end, joy.
In the middle, tedium.

In time, the young wife
naturally hardens. Drifting
from her side, in imagination,
the man returns not to a drudge
but to the goddess he projects.

On a hill, the armless figure
welcomes the delinquent boat,
her thighs cemented shut, barring
the fault in the rock.

thought bubbles


No, because I do not scream my inner feelings from the rooftops and throughout the valleys of my countryside, it does not mean that my feelings are non-existent, weak, lukewarm or tepid.

Through all my actions, through all my willingness, in every spontaneous action and every fixed fiber, I feel. But it is only for us to share. Others may observe and see the evidence, but I don’t need to create evidence and images for the world to see – or for curious onlookers and interlopers to latch onto.

It is not up for discussion.