Each of the poems I share will be a piece of writing that resonates with me deeply. A piece of poetry that conveys what I feel/believe/have experienced. Or something I agree with. Or something that has moved me. Sometimes I'll provide commentary if time (and inspiration) permits. Other times I'll just share the poem. These poems are not my own, I own no rights to them. I just love them, adore the poets, and wish to share their work.
In addition to this, I will also be writing a poem per day for the duration of April. You can find those posts as well. In previous years, I have removed all but day #1 and day #30 of the 30 poems I personally write during NaPoWriMo. I urge you to read them while they are available. At the end of April I will remove most of them.
My poem today is by an amazing lady whose work I have adored for years. Kim Addonizio is as brave as she is talented. And her poem perfectly captures a feeling that resonates to me all the way into the chemical breakdown of my female genes. Sometimes what a person wants can really be that simple (yet complicated, once you sink below surface).
What Do Women Want?
I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me. I want it sleeveless and backless, this dress, so no one has to guess what’s underneath. I want to walk down the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store with all those keys glittering in the window, past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly, hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders. I want to walk like I’m the only woman on earth and I can have my pick. I want that red dress bad. I want it to confirm your worst fears about me, to show you how little I care about you or anything except what I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment from its hanger like I’m choosing a body to carry me into this world, through the birth-cries and the love-cries too, and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin, it’ll be the goddamned dress they bury me in.
Published in Another Chicago Magazine, also in the book Tell Me.