Erica Jong Poems

If it is only for the taking off-
the velvet cloak,
the ostrich feather boa,
the dress which slithers to the floor
...

Unable to bear
the uncertainty
of the future,
we consulted seers,
...

In the chest is caged bat
who seeks escape
through the mouth.

He flaps his wings
...

There is only one story:
he loved her,
then stopped loving her,
while she did not
...

I looked at the book.
'It will stand,' I thought.
Not a palace
built by a newspaper czar,
...

I am happiest
near the ocean,
where the changing light
reminds me of my death
...

Putting the skis down
in the white snow,
the wind singing,
the blizzard of time
...

I am the Sphinx.
I am the woman buried in sand
up to her chin.
I am waiting for an archaeologist
...

Looking for a place
where we might turn off
the inner dialogue,
the monologue
...

Ash falls on the roof
of my house.

I have cursed you enough
in the lines of my poems
...