STEFANIE LIPSEY

CHOICES ON THE CUSP OF THE MILLENNIUM

When you were pregnant with an unwanted third,
you did what was expected of a married woman,
let the depression of your body rise,
the bloated marble ceiling of the pantheon.
 

Inside, you searched for the eye of a god
who would shine his flashlight
on your prayers and make it go away.
 

I walked through the ruins of Rome
and knew that he would be too
busy to listen to me.
The Palestinians and Israelis
were beating up the sand and the world
hoped they could split it into enough
pieces for everyone.
 

I watched my body split twice before and knew
enough damage had been done
so I did what you, my mother, couldn’t do,
explained to my daughter that women are pioneers,
rocking on the plains, filled with nausea
and security inside their covered wagons
while blood flowers from the skin of those
who know the truth about the way covered
wagons really move.
 

My daughter saw the blood before I had a chance to flush it away.
 

It was a good day to talk about blood
because the President sounded
like John Wayne as he spoke out to the world.
Our allies and enemies know what they are up against.
 

I wanted you, my daughter,
to know what we are up against
when our bodies want what we can’t have,
when we ask for the easy pill to swallow
and clean up all the blood
before it really becomes something to talk about.
 

Stefanie Lipsey lives on Long Island where she has been a featured reader for The Performance Poets Association, The Live Poets Society and The Long Island Poetry Collective. She has a BA in Music and is completing her Masters in Library and Information Studies at Queens College, CUNY.