I’ve often wondered why so many women like the movie Grease so well. I know women who are almost obsessed with it, refusing to miss it the 107th time on television. They know all the words to every song, and can emote along with the characters because every word is burned into their memory. I thought at first it might be John Travolta, but I don’t see an equal obsession with other Travolta films, so it must be something else.
Read More“Well-behaved women seldom make history.”
They found her diary under her bed. Maybe it held some clue. Every day, every entry, was the same, the description of an ordinary life, what sounded to most of the cops like a peaceful life. A housewife’s life. On one page, she drew a copy of her college degree. She had a doctorate in chemistry, but according to the entry for that day, she used it only for not accidentally mixing acids and bases while cleaning. Another page contained a drawing of a drowning woman, but a complete search of her history showed a lack of tragedy. “An ordinary life”, they all agreed.
Read MoreWhy is the woman tired?
What do women do all day?
I imagine the TV was on,
Her feet were up,
And she sipped hot tea.
Why should a woman be tired?
As I am writing this, I am reminded of that scene from the movie Carrie, where she is frightened because she just started her period and doesn’t know what’s happening. Instead of sympathy and help, she gets mockery, as the girls crowd her in the shower, throwing tampons and pads at her, shouting “plug it up”. She cowers in the corner. Her mother, when she hears, screams invectives about her being a bad girl. No one is willing to help her understand what is happening. Of course, the most famous scene follows…she is at the prom, elected prom queen through the scheming of her classmates, and while she stands there, flowers in her arms, tiara on her head, smiling perhaps for the first time in the movie, someone dumps a bucket of pig blood on her. We all know what happens next. No one lives through the movie except one girl…and it wasn’t Carrie.
Read MoreLike a waterfall
A woman’s tears,
Her grief transparent,
Her loss extreme.
You probably heard all your life…sticks and stones, and all that nonsense. Don’t believe it. Words hurt. Pain hurts. Words designed to elicit pain are going to hurt, and it isn’t weakness, it isn’t letting them hurt you. That is an excuse designed to put the onus for your pain back on you. I didn’t let them hurt me; I had little choice. Could I have been tougher? Could I have let it flow off my back? No, I don’t think I could. I didn’t have the strength of knowing I was loved, knowing I was valued, knowing I had a support system. Some women have that, and are able to do it. They shouldn’t have to.
Read MoreTonight’s poem comes from a Mondegreen. If you don’t know what a Mondegreen is, it refers to the misheard lyrics of a song, you know, like Round John Virgin. I don’t remember what the song was, or who the singer, or even what the real line was. Whatever it was, I misheard it as “Misogyny paved the way”. So tonight, a poem based on a line I didn’t hear right.
Read MoreThe truck smelled like cattle. Alicia recognized it; they had stolen…commandeered, she supposed they would say…Ben’s truck. Her husband was in the barn when the first bomb dropped. He yelled for her to take the women to safety. She hadn’t heard from him since. She gathered the women around her, which wasn’t difficult with them tied together. She spoke quietly, trying to calm them. It was difficult when she wasn’t calm herself. She reminded them of the heritage of bravery they got from their mothers and grandmothers, women who never let the men see them cry. They lived through many wars; the small country had been invaded from all sides. Two neighboring countries were fighting over control; the citizens who lived there had no say. It would be decided by who had the biggest guns, the most bombs.
Read MoreNine months…for a woman, what does it mean?
If she is a mother, it is the length of gestation.
If she is a teacher, it is the length of the school year.
If she is…well, I’m not sure if it has more meanings.
I’m kicking the habit.
Not smoking – I already don’t.
Not drinking – why would I?
No, the greatest vice I have…
And I’m kicking the habit today.
I read. A lot. Some of the books I read are feminist books, and I’ve noticed something, especially among the younger feminists. There is a tendency to say that no woman should have to be perfectly feminist all the time; she can make some choices that are not, in fact, feminist, some choices that might even be stereotypes of what a woman is. I agree. I have noticed another thing, however. They are always willing to carve out an exception for whatever it is they like…lipstick, high heels, perfume…but they are quick to condemn other women’s choices of where they prefer to be, shall we say, traditional?
Read More“No. And neither are you. I’ve worked here ten years, I do not know what is behind that door. If you try to open it again, you will no longer volunteer here.” Jocelyn tried to soften up her words. She understood what the girl was feeling; curiosity was a strong emotion, and she felt it many times. The only time she tried to go in, she was written up with a warning that transgressions were grounds for termination. “What’s your name?” She wanted to make the girl feel at home.
Read MoreI don’t remember how old I was
When I learned
I must smile constantly.
I must dress to please.
I must never speak unless asked a direct question.
I must never step out of my proper place.
I must never succeed…unless it is childbearing.
I must never win.
Okay, so the breasts are large.
That doesn’t mean they are there
For you to stare at.
Women have a short shelf life.
We are marked by
Implicit decay.
So, what do I think I would have done if I had the proper environment for me? Sailing a boat across the Atlantic to visit Europe. A small boat, just one or two of us (I really didn’t think I would get married, so my childhood dreams tended to include just me). Skydive. Hang glide. Climb a mountain. Visit every continent. Maybe I would have been a hippie; I was in the right generation for it. Maybe I would have learned to dance, not ballroom dancing, but the fast dances. Maybe I would have been a feminist from early on instead of waiting until I was an adult to become involved.
Read More“Because doing chores is good for you.” Nicole dismissed them; they could fight over the computer all night, and she wouldn’t care. She would stay in the kitchen and wouldn’t hear their fighting or Devin’s snoring as he slept in front of the TV. She washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. The dryer beeped, telling her the laundry was ready, so she hauled it out of the dryer, folded it, and carried it upstairs to put away. Off her feet…yeah. Devin was off his feet, the recliner all the way back, the remote clutched in his left hand, about to drop on the floor. The kids were off their feet, sitting cross-legged in front of the computer, an old used model that led to constant arguments with her about why they couldn’t have a better computer.
Read MoreIt’s Women’s Day.
It’s International.
All over the world, women will be
Today, I have a poem. It’s short, but if it says what I want to say, it doesn’t need to be long. For this poem, though, you need to have some insight. If you are unfamiliar with what happens to women during a war, there are plenty of sites out there to help you. The war in Ukraine has been weighing on my mind, and from stories I hear, it sounds like this is like every other war…the women are a tool of war, a prize of war, and an opportunity for warriors. One can wish we had progressed beyond this, but it seems we never do.
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