Yesterday's prompt was interesting -- write an index poem. I looked at my bookshelf and pulled out Stealing the Language by Alicia Ostriker for some good old fashioned feminist theory.
an image of divinity
always shining from above.
I look up at him, taller, broader, bigger
Mistaken for stronger, smarter.
knight in shining armor, prince charming,
the one who saves me from myself,
opens the jar of pickles,
What you are,
everything I lack.
I see myself as night,
wild and howling at the moon,
woman in the attic,
hair like midnight in her face.
Father, Father Father
in heaven looking down at me.
Another man to disappoint.
Another man who wants my flesh
scrubbed clean of my own scent.
you are desire,
the sunflower waiting
to be plucked,
washed in sunrays,
quivering, always ready.
when flesh meets flesh meets bone.
Within this index, that’s all we’ll be,
a tearing apart, a loosening of self.