Woman In Front Of Poster Of Herself poem – Alice Notley

Said I shouldn’t.

Fingering me.

Everything I did.

A litter of chewed knucklebones

I’ve spread them out over the

rectangular floor as regularly as

I can; so I can account for them.

Her hands are crossed over

her breasts and each holds

a feather; her face has no features

Have I come to beg

What do I wish — to be

judged?

Is it an accumulation

of what I’ve said, that

counts, that I’m counting

is it all alphabet and abacus

everything rhymed?

You still don’t have a face.

Suddenly she has the face of a

cat.

No that’s a different

goddess.

I tell you this

bloodthirsty

jaguar…

I don’t have any idea what my word is, I

mean fault. Is it a word or an act. The

whole thrill is ripping me apart

Inside these

words there’s nothing but a pumping

bloodsoaked…

but clearly, everything I said, did,

was a long shot

We didn’t hear a word

What have you ever heard?

Now I’m here — black-caped in a

chair. Animal staring at me

I sink into your disaffected

ambiance to name.

What emotional

charges

have been laid on me from

earliest times

and my own

earliest

resulting in the bone strewn carpet

I had to grow the dice

of accounting to your love; for

you made me speak to you

lovingly; or did I do that naturally

oh just, bloodthirsty face

who doesn’t have to understand.

I don’t know who I’m speaking to

is pushing me

Judgment maybe it’s when being

fragile I

hallucinate you best

I don’t want to use my name!

‘Where I was born we girls ran

free. and named ourselves,’

Justice says.

She may kill me,

it depends on whether she’s hungry

Copyright ©: 
Alice Notley

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• Robert Burns: Second Epistle To Robert Graham, ESQ., Of Fintry: by Robert Burns
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