WAS SHE SHRIEKING?

 

Almost impossible to be creative

When happy (in love)

Why take time away

From obsessing over the beloved

Anyway?

The heat of lust

Flesh, fire-roasted

Concentration of flavor

Tasting the sweetness

Like Valentine candy hearts

(I heart U in pink dye)

But rage is hot, too

Yet scribbling, screaming

Hearts’ heat, when alone

Is different

So was it all the wasted passion

Wasted womanhood

That worked for women writers?

Is that how Austen, Dickinson

Resisted tearing out their hair

Tripping down Georgian/Victorian streets

Screaming, steaming, shouting:

Oh, for the touch of a man!

For the meeting of eyes

Concerns that arise

LUST + LIKE = LOVE

Did Emily Bronte’s rage write

One of the most sexually-soaked books

Of the nineteenth century?

And was her sister Anne

Lonely governess in Scarborough

Seeking solace from the

Passing of her clergryman

Pining? Resigned? Enraged?

What hidden facial expression

Passivity or aggression?

How did these women

Continue to live

Or

Conceivably

Is that why they died

So young?

 

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

Image: 1880 Victorian hair, unidentified, Pinterest