Thursday, October 12, 2006

For the Woman Out There Who Might Be Contemplating a Great Change

it was a dream
by Lucille clifton

in which my greater self
rose up before me
accusing me of my life
with her extra finger
whirling in a gyre of rage
at what my days had come to
what,
i pleaded with her, could i do,
oh what could i have done?
and she twisted her wild hair
and sparked her wild eyes
and screamed as long as
i could hear her
This. This. This.

4 comments:

Erin said...

Theresa,

I read this poem in college and found it very powerful. I still still moves me. I find the line "accusing me of my life" particularly fiery.

I can scarcely imagine a better call to change.

Erin

Cynthia said...

I've never read this before, but oh, do I know it. How absolutely perfect.

Vicky said...

Oh, Theresa, I have been gone too long. This poem is magnificent! Thank you for posting it. Extremely a propos for me - and for many of us, I suspect!

Vicky

V said...

For me, the poem describes that space in a depressive episode when the individual is at a point of choice. There is a recognition of the painful depths that are available and equally, a rage against such self-flagellation.
Very striking!
V

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"I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me. . . Take the soft dust in your hand--does it stir: does it sing? Has it lips and a heart? Does it open its eyes to the sun? Does it run, does it dream, does it burn with a secret, or tremble In terror of death? Or ache with tremendous decisions?. . ." --Conrad Aiken

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