NOTES ON THE BODY (2)*
They call me patient. They pull
In the pre-operation room, an intern
Now in the bedroom, I stretch over
ceiling, a stack of mail on the dresser, a woman
Way up in the sky, the little birds fly ...
Gives her a thin sheet for hiding.
a body that waits for her on a coat hanger.
* * *
She's had it easy, you know.
I knew her from FSU, back before she was disabled.
Did she talk like it? Do you know what it is, exactly?
She used to wear these huge dresses to cover it up.
Yes, I'll take water.
Me too. With a slice of lemon.
After that poem in the The Atlantic . . .
Oh, she's had it easy all right.
She should come out and state the disability.
I met her once at AWP. Tiny thing. Limps a little.
What are you going to have?
I can't decide.
How can she write like she's writing
It's kind of gross. It's kind of offensive. It's kind of
Should we have wine? Let's have something light.
I wouldn't mind. I wouldn't mind.
She's had it easy.
I can't stand political poetry.
She doesn't even write about it critically.
You would think, if it really concerns her,
I heard she's not that smart. My friend was in
I believe it. I mean the kind of language
My friend said she actually believes
Oh, that's rich. I'm sorry but if the book
So New Criticism.
Really I don't like her work at all. I find it,
* * *
THE VILLANELLE TAKES A STAND
I am so sick of reading poems by people
and how sorry the people feel for them
who have their civil rights and say, Yes,
blown into ditches and across streets
in a magazine that reads You're
are attached at the hip and knee
*from Jillian Weise's book The Amputee's Guide to Sex