seated on a low wooden stool
in Borders Books on Union Square--
in front of shelves of books
reading Dorothy Allisonıs poem --the
women who hate me--
my mind flooded with memories
growing up with the hatred of women
sent me into the arms lips, minds beds of men
trust of men who have harmed me--
I move over to the Borders Cafe on that floor
and pay for a cup of green tea--a dollar thirty eight
write oblivious or nearly so-- of the women around me
write of my sisters
each hated me (in 3 different intensities)
my motherıs hatred my aunt Estherıs
my neighbors both sides of the house
my best high-school girl friends
who could not get the boys I had so easily
so regularly car parked back-seat make-out--
back then-- all those femmes women, girls
secretly despised me
actions toward me-- covered over versions
to hurt, limit, withhold what I needed
they didnıt want me to know
Iım Gina Lola-Brigita in a red dress
Sophia Loren inside (I have Sophiaıs eyes)
all the girlıs lies, secrets, whispers
smirking laughs, exchanged glances of conspiracy
against me devious maneuverings--
I matched with silence, avoidance
seeking to please, join their unattractiveness
with too short hair cuts--to drive the boys away--
put me on their level of desirability
matched their competitions I never felt--
dressing to my own style&tastes
of designs fashions clothes eye-make-up ---
shoes--stockings--coats -- purses--scarves
never a “that looks good on you” helpful
compliment to build my self-confidence--from the girls
only the friendliest of the sisters sent in to spy
(the least fearful of me) -- and report back
careful not to betray the motivating reasons
she tells me “you know what to get..” to wear
colors, fabrics, styles-- she wants to know how I know...
so she can do the same
I just tell her that I choose what I like--
implying--that itıs best to cultivate the self
rather than imitate-- this word lesson makes
us more separate -- drives them by reportage
deeper away from my inner world of me--
where at a greater length they laugh,
do not understand me- and I know them so well
yet do not understand why they persist
in clinging to their nasty bitchy hurtful ways
that get them nowhere and nothing but each other
and suspect fear in their knowing they cannot
be who they want--
so they try to force limitations on
every other woman-- single me out
because Iım there and different--
I find ways around
lines out-reaching
shoots off into books I love reading
and my drawing&the art museum
clothes&wool fabrics in the cold Midwest
mores boys and more kissing
wild trying pot smoking
LSD tripping whiskey parties
film--music--concerts and sex
until Iım old enough to move away from them--
live with girls not competitive (there are a few like me around)
do things with them like go out to clubs
have people over for long conversations
take film courses at the university
travel out of town to visit friends
dividing myself off from certain types of women
like the one I feel staring at me right now
curious about me my book what Iım doing
I look up into her eyes she stretches
an automatic phony smile
expecting reciprocation
I look down and continue to write
adding her into my words
suspicious of women with phony smiles
of a false courtesy-- the forced straight-across
smiles of women who feel sorry for me
for not being like them-- not understanding
my avoidance of just that prospect--
a society of smiling pretenses in front
of others like themselves who will judge
them just for that--I refuse to get into
that trap--failing to return phony smiles
my non-participation makes the women nervous
eager to show-me-up
wrack-up points that will allow them retaliation
while in-spite I just go about my life
learning new ways of avoidance
and cutting-out even the smallest
aspects of their control from my life--
