Author: Marge Piercy

Man stomping over my bed in boots Carrying a large bronze church bell Which you occasionally drop: Gross man with […]

You strop my anger, especially When I find you in restaurant or bar And pay for the same liquid, coming […]

Mine, says the cat, putting out his paw of darkness. My lover, my friend, my slave, my toy, says The […]

A heap of wheat, says the Song of Songs But I’ve never seen wheat in a pile. Apples, potatoes, cabbages, […]

In flat America, in Chicago, Graceland cemetery on the German North Side. Forty feet of Corinthian candle Celebrate Pullman embedded […]

Under a sky the color of pea soup She is looking at her work growing away there Actively, thickly like […]

1. The dark socket of the year The pit, the cave where the sun lies down And threatens never to […]

The construction of a woman: A woman is not made of flesh Of bone and sinew Belly and breasts, elbows […]

We sat across the table. He said, cut off your hands. They are always poking at things. They might touch […]

Girls buck the wind in the grooves toward work In fuzzy coats promised to be warm as fur. The shop […]