I’ve been debating whether or not to include poetry here at the blog as another thread in the rich tapestry of psychological healing. After all, it’s another mirror to the self, in the same way Yoga and good therapy are mirrors to the inner dimensions of experience. While I see it as a valuable addition, perhaps you do not. So I’ll leave it with you to decide whether the poetry offered here will be something worth reading and reflecting on, something else worth using as your own private mirror to yourself.
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The Woman in the Ordinary
The woman in the ordinary pudgy downcast girl
is crouching with eyes and muscles clenched.
Round and pebble smooth she effaces herself
under ripples of conversation and debate.
The woman in the block of ivory soap
has massive thighs that neigh,
great breasts that blare and strong arms that trumpet.
The woman of the golden fleece
laughs uproariously from the belly
inside the girl who imitates
a Christmas card virgin with glued hands,
who fishes for herself in other’s eyes,
who stoops and creeps to make herself smaller.
In her bottled up is a woman peppery as curry,
a yam of a woman of butter and brass,
compounded of acid and sweet like a pineapple,
like a handgrenade set to explode,
like goldenrod ready to bloom.