Archive for the ‘poetry’
Gender Griping in Blank Verse
For Tanya
I forget
What I started out to be at twenty-two, or what I wanted, or who I was
But I hadn’t decided yet when he left for Canada.
So a year later I went to Canada too
And lay there on that borrowed couch staring at the ceiling
From August until January,
Finally leaving those two roach-infested rooms
To work for nothing
Because immigration law said I couldn’t work for money
Or go to school either, as it turns out.
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So instead I held a Godbaby
in a filthy abandoned storefront
Made into a church, east end of the city
Full of women who stood,
And children who ran around
Except for the boy pounding
Meaningless notes
On an out-of-tune piano
While the women cut eyes over at me.
This white woman
Trying in vain to sing along
As the only man there preached the christening
Telling us all to repent
Of female sin that made these babies,
(And drove the men off too, apparently.)
I still didn’t know anything
When my own baby came who didn’t sleep
I couldn’t put him down for almost a year.
I cried at night
Because holding a baby meant I didn’t sleep either
And none of our friends had babies
And my support group lived 3000 miles away.
Immigration finally let me get a job,
So first I nursed the baby while I typed.
Then I left him with his father which was better still
But I always had to rush home
Because that father had to go back to the library and would be angry but worse
Would be frightened if he couldn’t keep at it keep up keep studying keep working.
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We moved to Tennessee,
And I kept writing for Canada
Until once at the printers
My 6-year-old pushed the baby’s stroller
down the stairs
And I realized that
“Mothers! You can work at home!”
Is a myth.
A few more cities,
and suddenly I was forty.
I sure don’t remember
deciding that by forty I’d be done with everything
Unless I was willing to start all over yet again, right at the bottom
No matter how many times I’ve done it already.
I discovered that many employers prefer beginners in their 20’s
Or employees who don’t mind being beginners forever.
I’d like to point out
That without the kind assistance
Of all the men who promised to pull strings,
The guy in New York would have hired me.
He invited me to visit
Spend time with his artists
Stay in his apartment
Wear New York Black,
Attend all his festivals.
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And considering
How old and unwanted I am in this town
I said
“Maybe…”
But get real.
I’m married, with kids.
I’m not buying any tickets to Manhattan.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch,
They’ve told me
“You’re so talented.”
“We’d love to see you again.”
“Excellent presentation.”
“How soon can you start?”
“You’ll be hearing from me, first thing Monday.”
But I don’t hear from them.
Not for weeks, I don’t. Sometimes months.
And when I finally do, it’s been “no” every time.
Over and over, and I just don’t understand it.
So I freelance a little
Despite the male colleague
who called it “Bitch Work”
And the other
Who asked me to put out his fires
Without billing for my time.
I billed him anyway, of course,
because I did the work
And he made money because of it.
Another boss called it “gender griping.”
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Oh, This Gender is Griping, all right.
They all want the milk
without buying the cow
And while it’s taken me a while,
I’m tired of breast-feeding so many people
(This is my body, given for you…)
Another torn-up woman had this to say.
There’s no need to buy the whole pig either
When all you want from time to time
Is a little sausage.
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Creative Commons images: “Teats” by R Catalano; “Piano” by Gotmikhail; “Fishnets” by Fenchurch; ”Pig pen” by James Michael Hill; “Stairs” by Compound Eye
