Books · Gender

Maroon me

Sixty Women PoetsSixty Women Poets by Linda France
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I said I’d take this book to a desert island before I’d read it
turns out I’d spoken prophecy
All my life I thought poets I could love were scarce
I felt nothing
for Blake, Wordsworth, Milton
hated all but a handful of the sonnets but didn’t give in
patiently opening books, picking gold dust out of the mire of my indifference
Anyway I was wrong I was wrong
I am not afraid now of shipwreck. What a guru I’d be studying this
universe of elegies, verse free and open like my island house, ground shifting like unbounded ocean
Sunburned yogi declaiming Feaver’s Marigolds and again and again then rolling on the sand naked mouth open insane
with ecstasy of solitude
but never alone again
with my sixty sisters
Hair long, salt-matted
Skin brown, smeared with gritty coconut and spiny aloe
Witch. Finally human. I am never coming home.
I can sob myself hoarse here as well as anywhere and squint until myopia shapes the Moon
My mother? She’ll hear me reading aloud in my dreams, say darling it’s beautiful
We have arrived at London Paddington
Please take
ALL of your belongings with you
When you leave

View all my reviews


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