Poetry- Nadia Wolnisty

On "Self-Portrait" by Kay Sage
To be a woman is like this now.
Scrub it off as if it were a stain—
all traces of your face.
Use bleach if you must or dish soap
if you have time to scrub.
You'll know when to stop.

The lattice work where your nose
used to be won't hang vines or
go inside pianos. The cloth
won't swaddle any infants
or stifle any urges.

You are no longer meat dumpling,
no pleasant little pouch.
You are sad machine.
Do you remember the toy store
you went to as a kid?
One day, the J...

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