Publisher's Synopsis
THE POEMS
You fell asleep on the tiles
a translucent peacock loomed
your sex opened and let out
a very blue, very high flame.
You wore a split veil that morning.
With flexibility and invisible acrobatics, The Seated Woman presents, as in the theatre, a competitive dialogue between a woman and her poems. Silent, nailed to her chair, the seated woman writes. She cracks. The poems fidget, slip their fingers: they seek to enter.
Perched on her shoulder, the poems whisper in her ear. She captures their messages: "I love the sacred contortions you offer me." The poems protest: "You're squeezing us too hard: be careful, toy."
More than descriptors, the words behave as commands or moves in a game-and the voice of the seated woman rises to play.
