HEAVENS

I am glad of the 'Right to Lifers'.

Those sisters who kiss the Pope's Kryptonite ring

And bend to kiss the dirty hem of his woman hating skirt. And he raises his lace petticoat and blesseth their heads With a shower of his holy waters..

'Yea, tho I grovel in the shadow of Evil,

I shall fear no darkness,

For I am woman' is their reply.

'Sic Transit Gloria Mundi' (So passes the glory of the world)

His mummers mumble.

And the ancient Eunuch pronounces,

'And you shall take the Blessed Virgin for your model And the Ghostly Penis shall descend on you In a cloud of sperm and make you pregnant!' That is all.... Sic the pope exit (Goddam Jews! we hear him whisper)

Dear sisters, I kiss your hands.

No personhood for you

But motherhood

No union but

Womb union

No benefit but

Menopause

No pension but

An old broken man to care for.

Like the jews in Germany

Your work was chosen for you

Set apart for you

Stripped of material progress for you

.sic transit gloria mundi

O NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

Can you storm the temple

And take the nursury school

for your children's palace?

Never but on Sunday

Can you strip the altar naked of its silks

and make little winter jackets

When the Erie Hawk flies the ghettos?

Do you dare to make 'the priest work the earth for

His own bread to cat?

Do you dare to pull your child down off the cross

Never to be nailed again?

Do you dare to kick the bingo money changer's table down the steps?

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

ABOVE

DO YOU DARE TO BE A FISHER OF WOMEN?

You cry for the right of children to be born

Because you dare not cry for your right to bear them! As soon as they are in you

You have no right to anything!

What you get, you must beg or ask or steal

Even your belly is not your own!

If no one feels generous to you

You will roll over like a dog in danger

And you will offer your belly to the knife

So that only one will suffer!

Why should they offer a crumb, a hand, an ear? They only gather the hay,

They don't make the bread.

They think a child springs from your forehead

Full grown and perfect.

To make bread, to make a bed

is work

But to raise a child from a dot of goo

To a man or a woman

is not work?

It is 'God's work'

And you must sit by and take care

Not to disturb the heavenly anarchy. God sets food in front of the children Sews the clothing on their backs, Dresses their wounds

And makes their tongues to form speech And their hands to grasp tools

So they say as HIS own faulty witnesses. Because they know that they do None of these things

And they are sure that such a weak

pitiful

thing as you are Could never perform such miracles.

When will you find the courage

To say that this is not 'God's work' But Women's Work!

And that a worker needs tools To work with

"Yea tho we all stand in the shadow of Evil, We shall fear no longer,

For we are Women'

Mary Waxperson

(yes yes yes?)

WOMAN AS MEAT

We are munching cows,

herded into pens and fattened,

forced down that narrow channel fenced closely on both sides.

Our confusion and vague misgivings are

ended with a killing blow between the eyes, our carcass selves skinned and quartered like so much meat.

No more shall we let ourselves be fed.

We will starve and die, useless to the slaughterer, till he sees we will not be sacrificed

to his gluttony,

He shall starve with us

or learn to seek less violent means

to satisfy his rapacious needs.

Judith Bigelow

H

آخرم

i rush to the door

in madness

but there is no one there.

there is no one anywhere --

to help.

my eyes can be understood although

i am behind this door..

in madness i say i rush to the door.

is there no one there?

my hand is not held

-

and the world knows it.

i jah it violently

through the window -

i only see the blood drip like tear

tear drops.

it is soon conquered by

rigor mortis.

i wait while my fingers turn

from blue to black.

so, with brick i' fill every door, with concrete the windows. and if i am anything at all it is safe.

10 years go by.

and then i hear a muffleed knock outside my door.

POETRY

Upon Having Been Kissed (Kist) by The Sun

(In Celebration of my Twenty-First Summer)

SHE darkens another layer of my skin and clears my face

SHE is warm

of imperfections

SHE surrounds me and

we dance on fine green blades together

We are naked:

body, soul, and heart

The gentleness of HER fire I feel and HER strength Together we

glow

Elizabeth Catlett

Carol Fitzgerald

and

burn. Jackie Wessel

3 print unsolicited manuscripts! If you have a poem you would like to share (or see in print! ) send a copy to: Jackie Wessel; 2449 Overlook Road Apartment No. 7 eveland Heights, Ohio 44106. Write your name and address after each poem. Be sure you have a copy of your own; we can't return manuscripts. We would like it you could include a brief explanation of who you are and how you heard of us. Possiblities for future poetry pages are, a poetry centerfold, features of one poet, and workshop page. Please let us hear your questions, reactions, ideas, etc. Thanx.

ge 4/What She Wants/July 1974