Today, I challenge you to perform an erasure: you can form a whole new poem just by taking words away!
NAPOWRIMO 26: http://www.napowrimo.net/2013/04/day-26/
I used a long poem written by a very talented poet I discovered online, Jenny Blackford. You can read the poem HERE.
Years ago, my reputation was as yours.
Safe—
A woman's not safe till she's dead
sometimes not even then—
but safe enough. The young men
their tender buttocks
ne'er moved me,
however soft skinned or bright-eyed
nor worn-out older,
tired from scrabbling.
But two haunted,
when I turned eighteen—
were different,
free.
Hair curved like black waterfalls
their cold eyes pierced my skin.
I told no one.
Not even whisper it
at my mother's grave.
Two years ago, my name was clean.
These days, gossip point
at grass under trees
and the boy paying- my son.
The half they know not.
I succumbed
to the lure
of all the glossy parts. There was more—
for any mountain girl like me
who has milked the cow and goat
has seen the ram or the he-goat lead them away in spring
their huge balls noticeable and prim.
The two centaurs
were lovable. They loved me as much
as they love one another.
I truly lived.
My centaurs tickled me
wherever I wished.
And I laughed and danced with them
in the sweetness of spring
far from father and home
until came autumn.
And I saw the two, make arrows in the sky
they had to leave,
my wild-men from far somewhere.
They stoked the rounded mound
low in my abdomen
I sulked: a fool
they sang me of ruined places
and of stars fallen on Earth.
I could not go
they could not stay.
I lingered for a month
they'd return for their love
but that was a mistake.
Winter came, I had no choice
with bitter steps, I walked to my father's house
did not name the man who took my honor.
How could I?
After the longest day and night in pain
ten little fingers and toes
no curling mane, but a baby boy.
I closed my eyes. Smiled.
My baby. Our baby.
I look out
as my son scampers around
and smile.
My boy.
My boy alone.
NAPOWRIMO 26: http://www.napowrimo.net/2013/04/day-26/
I used a long poem written by a very talented poet I discovered online, Jenny Blackford. You can read the poem HERE.
Years ago, my reputation was as yours.
Safe—
A woman's not safe till she's dead
sometimes not even then—
but safe enough. The young men
their tender buttocks
ne'er moved me,
however soft skinned or bright-eyed
nor worn-out older,
tired from scrabbling.
But two haunted,
when I turned eighteen—
were different,
free.
Hair curved like black waterfalls
their cold eyes pierced my skin.
I told no one.
Not even whisper it
at my mother's grave.
Two years ago, my name was clean.
These days, gossip point
at grass under trees
and the boy paying- my son.
The half they know not.
I succumbed
to the lure
of all the glossy parts. There was more—
for any mountain girl like me
who has milked the cow and goat
has seen the ram or the he-goat lead them away in spring
their huge balls noticeable and prim.
The two centaurs
were lovable. They loved me as much
as they love one another.
I truly lived.
My centaurs tickled me
wherever I wished.
And I laughed and danced with them
in the sweetness of spring
far from father and home
until came autumn.
And I saw the two, make arrows in the sky
they had to leave,
my wild-men from far somewhere.
They stoked the rounded mound
low in my abdomen
I sulked: a fool
they sang me of ruined places
and of stars fallen on Earth.
I could not go
they could not stay.
I lingered for a month
they'd return for their love
but that was a mistake.
Winter came, I had no choice
with bitter steps, I walked to my father's house
did not name the man who took my honor.
How could I?
After the longest day and night in pain
ten little fingers and toes
no curling mane, but a baby boy.
I closed my eyes. Smiled.
My baby. Our baby.
I look out
as my son scampers around
and smile.
My boy.
My boy alone.
