Retrograde

photo from Pixbay, Creative Commons license CC0I never said I was sane
(of course)
and I spin
with the turn of galaxies,
retrograde
perhaps spinning into walls,
a storm
a cyclone?

Cyclical, like the strong-pull moon
and dripping blood the same
with a shy smile
kindled in my womanhood.

In no other body could my spirit be free.
Of course I’m not sane:
Look who, in this world, defines
the term.

Not I, nor my kind.
Not I.

 

written 10-8-87
First published in “Undertow” poetry magazine,
Macalester College, MN,
another universe.
(1987 or ’88)

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