SHE CAN'T BEAR IT.

WOMAN, BE THOU INFERTILE!
what a mess.
she can guess
how poor old Sarah in the Bible felt
before the angel relented and implanted
Isaac.
DON'T WORRY, DEAR, he said, WHAT'S FORTY YEARS OF PAIN?
YOU'RE ALL GOD'S CHILDREN.


If she must be big fat she'd rather be
that sow with eighteen teats
knee-deep in shit
rope-throated for the butcher's knife but still
smiling from ear to ear
as the teats are eighteen ways caressed.


she a mere self, and the sow
a goddess
yes
unfathomable karma of the squealing universe


BALLS said the angel
LUDICROUS CONCEIT
do you want your legs spread and the guts pulled from you as a living head?
worry, guilt, potty
training teenage dropout drugs no gratitude?

WOMAN OF THE NEW MILLENIUM
veil yourself in friendship, sex, career,
be a man if you will
get therapy, adopt an orphan THERE ARE FAR, he cried,
TOO MANY CHILDREN IN THE WORLD


what is she, then,
since her body has failed to repay?


only (as Lawrence gently said of Connie Chatterly)
a thing of terrors,
humiliation worse
far worse than immorality


there are sisters who exercise choice
but she is not one
the womb has her in thrall to its useless bloat and vomit
as the moon darkens her room


ovaries lie in her brain like unpicked fruit
imploding
even in sleep


SHE WANTS TO KILL THE CHILD WITHIN HER


how do you mothers feel about that?