Marge Piercy Poems
|2.||The Secretary Chant||5/13/2015|
|3.||The Birthday Of The World||3/17/2015|
|4.||Visiting A Dead Man On A Summer Day||1/3/2003|
|7.||To The Pay Toilet||1/20/2003|
|9.||The Morning Half-Life Blues||1/1/2004|
|10.||The Cat's Song||1/3/2003|
|11.||My Mother's Body||1/3/2003|
|12.||Implications Of One Plus One||1/3/2003|
|14.||Attack Of The Squash People||1/3/2003|
|15.||The Woman In The Ordinary||1/3/2003|
|19.||For The Young Who Want To||1/3/2003|
|20.||Colors Passing Through Us||1/3/2003|
|21.||What Are Big Girls Made Of?||1/3/2003|
|22.||To Be Of Use||1/3/2003|
|23.||A Work Of Artifice||1/3/2003|
This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.
She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.
She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
Man stomping over my bed in boots
carrying a large bronze church bell
which you occasionally drop:
gross man with iron heels
who drags coffins to and fro at four in the morning,
who hammers on scaffolding all night long,
who entertains sumo wrestlers and fat acrobats--
I pass you on the steps, we smile and nod.
Rage swells in me like gas.