On Reading Not A Muse, an Anthology of Women’s Poetry
I am not a woman,
have never made love to a woman
and will probably never make love to a woman
since I prefer a man’s sweet nerve.
Reading this anthology, subtitled
the inner lives of women,
I wonder what a thing a woman is.
I think she is my sister
crying at the other end of the line, in a different continent,
who not so secretly worshipped and resented me
but now asks in wild abandonment,
“Why can’t you keep it in?”