Lauren, to Herself

not by
Charles Olson

I have had to learn the feminine things
last. Which has caused problems.
Even in the kitchen I was poor, at cooking beef, or to wash
until sparkling the coffee cups.
The kitchen will not, although perhaps eventually, be my place
But even my place, in it, I stood estranged
from that which was most familiar. My wombs delay
not content with mans argument
to such postponement
argued with nature of
that we are all bodies
made of bones
that we grow up together
yet the woman
is not easily

She could be, though the politeness (the cupcakes)
I note in others,
makes more friends
than my own burnt toast. The acceptance

they submit to daily
of the worlds
and who encourage
as I am witness
though I have tried

I have made dialogues
have discussed my inadequacies,
Have coughed in a silent room, offered
what freedom
patriarkhia allows

But the home?
This, I can not have been given,
a life, love, and from man
the world.

But standing here
I look out as a wind
prunes the roses, plucking
“he loves me not”
red petals

I know the cupboards
for the towels, how to fold them,
which to use. But the family
you want to grow in me,
for their rejection, of me

And my circumstance
is neither diminished
nor increased,
by the eradication


It is undone business
I speak of, this morning
with the dishes
piling high
in the sink

Lauren Dye, 2014

Remixed works:
Maximus, to himself, by Charles Olson
Chores a housewife is expected to perform
and her attitude towards her position in society