Insomnia

Source: Unknown/Favim

But it's really fear you want to talk about
and cannot find the words
so you jeer at yourself

you call yourself a coward
you wake at 2 a.m. thinking failure,
fool, unable to sleep, unable to sleep

buzzing away on your mattress with two pillows
and a quilt, they call them comforters,
which implies that comfort can be bought

and paid for, to help with the fear, the failure
your two walnut chests of drawers snicker, the bookshelves mourn
the art on the walls pities you, the man himself beside you

asleep smelling like mushrooms and moss is a comfort
but never enough, never, the ceiling fixture lightless
velvet drapes hiding the window

traffic noise like a vicious animal
on the loose somewhere out there—
you brag to friends you won't mind death only dying

what a liar you are—
all the other fears, of rejection, of physical pain,
of losing your mind, of losing your eyes,

they are all part of this!
Pawprints of this! Hair snarls in your comb
this glowing clock the single light in the room

~ Alicia Ostriker

Insomnia

Source: Unknown/Favim

But it's really fear you want to talk about
and cannot find the words
so you jeer at yourself

you call yourself a coward
you wake at 2 a.m. thinking failure,
fool, unable to sleep, unable to sleep

buzzing away on your mattress with two pillows
and a quilt, they call them comforters,
which implies that comfort can be bought

and paid for, to help with the fear, the failure
your two walnut chests of drawers snicker, the bookshelves mourn
the art on the walls pities you, the man himself beside you

asleep smelling like mushrooms and moss is a comfort
but never enough, never, the ceiling fixture lightless
velvet drapes hiding the window

traffic noise like a vicious animal
on the loose somewhere out there—
you brag to friends you won't mind death only dying

what a liar you are—
all the other fears, of rejection, of physical pain,
of losing your mind, of losing your eyes,

they are all part of this!
Pawprints of this! Hair snarls in your comb
this glowing clock the single light in the room

~ Alicia Ostriker

A Young Woman, A Tree

The life spills over, some days.
She cannot be at rest,
Wishes she could explode

Like that red tree—
The one that bursts into fire
All this week.

Senses her infinite smallness
But can’t seize it,
Recognizes the folly of desire,

The folly of withdrawal—
Kicks at the curb, the pavement,
If only she could, at this moment,

When what she’s doing is plodding
To the bus stop, to go to school,
Passing that fiery tree—if only she could

Be making love,
Be making a painting,
Be exploding, be speeding through the universe

Like a photon, like a shower
Of yellow flames—
She believes if she could only catch up

With the riding rhythm of things, of her own electrons,
Then she would be at rest—
If she could forget school,

Climb the tree,
Be the tree,
burn like that.

~ Alicia Ostriker

A Young Woman, A Tree

The life spills over, some days.
She cannot be at rest,
Wishes she could explode

Like that red tree—
The one that bursts into fire
All this week.

Senses her infinite smallness
But can’t seize it,
Recognizes the folly of desire,

The folly of withdrawal—
Kicks at the curb, the pavement,
If only she could, at this moment,

When what she’s doing is plodding
To the bus stop, to go to school,
Passing that fiery tree—if only she could

Be making love,
Be making a painting,
Be exploding, be speeding through the universe

Like a photon, like a shower
Of yellow flames—
She believes if she could only catch up

With the riding rhythm of things, of her own electrons,
Then she would be at rest—
If she could forget school,

Climb the tree,
Be the tree,
burn like that.

~ Alicia Ostriker

Everywoman Her Own Theology

Image: stockimages/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I am nailing them up to the cathedral door

Like Martin Luther. Actually, no,

I don't want to resemble that Schmutzkopf

(See Erik Erikson and N.O. Brown

On the Reformer's anal aberrations,

Not to mention his hatred of Jews and peasants),

So I am thumbtacking these ninety-five

Theses to the bulletin board in my kitchen.

My proposals, or should I say requirements,

Include at least one image of a god,

Virile, beard optional, one of a goddess,

Nubile, breast size approximating mine,

One divine baby, one lion, one lamb,

All nude as figs, all dancing wildly,

All shining. Reproducible

In marble, metal, in fact any material.

Ethically, I am looking for

An absolute endorsement of loving-kindness.

No loopholes except maybe mosquitoes.

Virtue and sin will henceforth be discouraged,

Along with suffering and martyrdom.

There will be no concept of infidels,

Consequently the faithful must entertain

Themselves some other way than killing infidels.

And so forth and so on. I understand

This piece of paper is going to be

Spattered with wine one night at a party

And covered over with newer pieces of paper.

That is how it goes with bulletin boards.

Nevertheless it will be there.

Like an invitation, a chalk pentangle,

It will emanate certain vibrations.

If something sacred wants to swoop from the universe

Through a ceiling, and materialize,

Folding its silver wings,

In a kitchen, and bump its chest against mine,

My paper will tell this being where to find me.

- Alicia Ostriker

Everywoman Her Own Theology

Image: stockimages/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I am nailing them up to the cathedral door

Like Martin Luther. Actually, no,

I don't want to resemble that Schmutzkopf

(See Erik Erikson and N.O. Brown

On the Reformer's anal aberrations,

Not to mention his hatred of Jews and peasants),

So I am thumbtacking these ninety-five

Theses to the bulletin board in my kitchen.

My proposals, or should I say requirements,

Include at least one image of a god,

Virile, beard optional, one of a goddess,

Nubile, breast size approximating mine,

One divine baby, one lion, one lamb,

All nude as figs, all dancing wildly,

All shining. Reproducible

In marble, metal, in fact any material.

Ethically, I am looking for

An absolute endorsement of loving-kindness.

No loopholes except maybe mosquitoes.

Virtue and sin will henceforth be discouraged,

Along with suffering and martyrdom.

There will be no concept of infidels,

Consequently the faithful must entertain

Themselves some other way than killing infidels.

And so forth and so on. I understand

This piece of paper is going to be

Spattered with wine one night at a party

And covered over with newer pieces of paper.

That is how it goes with bulletin boards.

Nevertheless it will be there.

Like an invitation, a chalk pentangle,

It will emanate certain vibrations.

If something sacred wants to swoop from the universe

Through a ceiling, and materialize,

Folding its silver wings,

In a kitchen, and bump its chest against mine,

My paper will tell this being where to find me.

- Alicia Ostriker