Sunday, April 19, 2015

NaPoWriMo Day #19

Today I decided to go with the prompt over at Poetic Asides.  I know, I 'm just flitting here and there and grabbing the inspiration as it calls to me!

The prompt went something like this:  For today’s prompt, write an authority poem. Maybe you are an authority on something or know someone who is (or who thinks he or she is). Maybe you respect authority, or maybe not so much. Maybe you are on the run from the authorities, in which case I can only say good luck, but this blog probably isn’t the best hiding place–especially with so many folks poeming away.

And here is my resulting poem:

Consorting With the Moon Madonna

In my sixteenth year,
At the all-girls’ school,
I imagined the old maids
Were empty vessels,
Their heads full of gray snakes.
They reminded me of
A dictionary Satan
When I refused to fold my hands
And fill my face with the
Mask of a fake smile,
Or throw the false-feeling
Words of a Hail Mary
Into my mouth,
Those tasteless things!
I suppose I was never
Eager to please anyone
Other than my mother,
Her tears fell, irrefutable
Against Saturday-simmered
Pork-chops and a day grown
Unexpectedly drunk on
Strawberry Wine.
I would escape the
Hawks’ eye of my parents’
House and fill my mouth
Full of bad things,
An ill-gotten phallic tendency.
I’d rage against the conformity
Of fads while other girls my age
Read the good book and
Weakened their knees with
Prayers in the School Chapel.
I had grown too sophisticated then,
By the words of Sexton and Nin,
To abide by the silliness
Of Weekday Curfew, or the
Measure of hem against white thigh,
Those moon-walking liars
That refused to tan or waltz,
Clumsy as a drunk at every dance.
I’d walk the fleshy hearts of adoring
Boys home with a black leash
Come midnight, their lips
tasting of oatmeal cookies
and the baked sour bread
of all their good mothers.
And, alone at last, in the twilight
space before morning,
I'd offer prayer to the Goddess Madonna,
My other mother, a bulb-full of bats
With shining fingers that fed
My mind with night sounds,
That hungry cipher.

1 comment:

  1. ah yes, the spell is cast upon you where liberty and freedom reign. autonomy. in spite of the strings wishing to tether you to traditional things, things that most don't understand but accept without further ado. you've walked the path where the wild wolf roams and the eagle soars and the oceans roar freely where ever they wish. this piece is a tell tale of who is, Stacy Lynn Mar.

    gracias for sharing your inner being


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