OUTRAGE

​

It is not so much
Cooking
But being cooked
That gets me;
When the chicken goes
In the oven
I’ll be caught there too-
My head in the
Oven along with the
Gizzards and lungs-
One wing Caught
With mine-
Heart, liver, entrails
Embroiled,
Boiled to a pink
Tasty succulence and then
Devoured.

Impaled on your
Incubi  I
Will not be nor
Stay to argue why
Not. I
Who abandoned all
Who professed to love me-
Mother, father, brothers, aunts
Uncles, cousins, husband, child-
Know what love means:
Love
Is that which detains;
That magic of detention which you
Need from me,
But which tears a
Woman.

The power of life is the
Integration of life is the
Integration of energy and
If you disintegrate,    I
Will not help you,
If you spatter
Red and bitter and
Rotten on the sidewalk, I
Will not pick you up
Nor suckle you nor
Bathe your wounds nor
Mend your torn socks, - I
A year ago would have said:
“Nestle your little broken head
On your mammy’s breast,

You poor, broken

Child of the Universe”,
But now I say
Scram;  -I
May glance your way to
Laugh, and I
May toss you a penny,
For you, who have

Condemned me as
Witch, as
Mother,  -I
Have no more
Any pity,
For you who have
Despised me as
Succubi, as
Ball-breaker   -I


 

Tell you, you puke in
Your own folly.
My passion is
Mine, nor am I
Vampire, nor
Banshee, nor
Screamer, nor
Waiting;  -I
Have turned away and  I
Face a distance I
Have not run,   -I
Raise my fist beside the
Door of My Dreams and I
Take Time,
My Time,
All of it
In my Hands.

- LUCILLE IVERSON