Tuesday

2 May 2017

— just because it is so sunny, I put double feed out today.

Good Morning All,

For the most part, I’m satisfied with the size of the Day Book entry pages, which in real-paper size measure 8” x 10” (20 cm X 25 cm), roughly typewriter paper size.)

But sometimes, I come across a terrific poem that is simply too long to include without reducing the snaps to postage size, and/or having to omit one or another engaging quote.

A couple of days ago, I was doing the Day Book entry for 31 July, which is the birthday of Kim Addonizio, born in 1954 in Bethesda, Maryland, in the same town as Iris Noble, another poet I like, and—as it happens—also my birth town. 

Have I mentioned that a number of years ago I met a man born in the Bethesda hospital the same day as I, and I did not—I am still kicking myself for this!—have the presences of mind to say, “Jolly, you look just like my dad!)

Kim Addonizio went to Georgetown University for a couple of weeks, but then headed for California, the Bay area, where she’s been ever since. In 2000, she was a National Book Award finalist for Tell Me, a collection of her poetry. The Poetry Foundation website says she writes “unflinching poetry”, which to me is high praise, indeed!

Anyway, here’s the poem of hers I’d have put in the Day Book had there been room. 

What Do Women Want?

Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress. 
I want it flimsy and cheap, 
I want it too tight, I want to wear it 
until someone tears it off me. 
I want it sleeveless and backless, 
this dress, so no one has to guess 
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store 
with all those keys glittering in the window, 
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old 
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers 
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly, 
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders. 
I want to walk like I'm the only 
woman on earth and I can have my pick. 
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm 
your worst fears about me, 
to show you how little I care about you 
or anything except what 
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment 
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body 
to carry me into this world, through 
the birth-cries and the love-cries too, 
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin, 
it'll be the goddamned 
dress they bury me in.   

Go Well and Stay Well,

Bhekaron