After Robert Bly
and Staceyann Chin
I am a push pin.
Metal short,
cork thin,
I am a push pin.
Glad of men finding healing
in however weeping, sweeping,
horned hunting, cooking, saucing
kitchens, woods, and squares even,
should curves refuse their skin.
I was a push pin.
Glad and galled and gutted, finding
women pussing feet warriors, swords,
tongues pinning men and painting women
and saving, saving, saving nothing
of themselves for What if? and Belonging
Where?
Will you be when I come in?
Posted by nancy at July 22, 2009 05:19 PM