You don't have to like this poem and it's really not my usual writing style, but we are studying the Poet Laureates in the poetry workshop I am taking. The poet for this week is Kay Ryan, who writes poems which simultaneously draw you in, but for reasons you don't understand. Well, some of the poems, anyway. Some of them are just too out there. She has rhymes in her poems in weird places and most of the poems are really obscure.
I'm too tired to write a poem
to get up from this chair to read
Kay Ryan how did she become a
poet laureate while falling in love
another woman who made her words
flow so effortlessly from her pen
onto white and crimson pages,
to tired to listen to NPR explain
the mortgage crisis, too tired to listen
to the dishwasher complain or the
broom sweeping up dog hair.
to those who
do you really believe that is feminism,
to those who spit “I’m not a feminist” as if it’s a dirty word
who are you
we who do not burn bras but wear those that are comfortable
we who have married, or not,
have raised children, or not,
who have loved men, stayed with them,
left them or not.
we who rally for equal rights or not,
we who carry our heads high in spite of barriers,
we carry on, yes we are