Gift for Carol Oles and the Personal that is Political-

I.
First, I had to give up horses.
The spectacle of me
Eyes, breasts, a milkshake,
The good crotch of a tree.

....We should glorify the female role
No burka, shed the hypnotic leaves
Of the Nepalese tea.

When it could hold seed it could do more.
When it could be void of seed it was worth more.

Before the truculent bitch
Could work, consume, but never think
And now we can look at Congoleum, the coca leaf,
The Italian marble of countertop madness.
Big screen, Tivo
A frozen shot of the pointless view.

I remember that history was making me
beef.
I was serving man on tidy dishes.

Isn’t the diamond a simple truce?

First, man chewed off my nipples, then it was my feet.
My ass could still bring a high price on the marriage market
But without feet, a pedicure could not correct the illness inside.

The spectacle of me,
Eyes, breasts, a milkshake before dinner
The pigment of loons.

When I bought the dress it fit like a slipper
I waxed the tree limbs and removed the bark.
I outlined the eyes and then erased them.
The metal of my picket teeth prohibited chewing.
I swallowed the femur, swallowed the wishbone and the wish.
I bought dishes and learned to set my place.

You there with the honey for my throat,
You there for the hot wax and the tightening.
Wasn’t I beautiful enough?
When breath stopped, I grabbed the hands on my throat and they were mine.


II
The spectacle of me
A scripted insurrection
of fossil fuel and Oil of Olady
I remember the position, the stirrups, how the
Waiter brought Pinot Grigio after the fish. It was hard
To eat from that position, but the examination was complimentary.

III
In recent time, I am making history,
The world outside the Theater, where thinking is a gift.
The new You is younger, much younger
And all this time I waited for you to leave me
Waited for you to seek the commodity of seed

I saw me for myself, what you see
The femur and the wishbone were free.
The skin was gone, finally gone and the honey
Was no longer spoon fed by loons.
You were with me then, after the chemo and vomiting
And you laughed at my glasses and the way I wore both hairs.

IV
Without the cannibalization, I taste better
My head cocks back in laughter and I feel the smoothness of
My unwaxed head. I have taken back the reins, broken out into the city
To be the Godiva that I always was.
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Carol Oles, feminist, poet, catalyst for change. http://www.alicejamesbooks.org/oles_poem.html