Selected Poems by Alice Walker
You might want to Google Gloria Steinem before you read this poem.
She
For Gloria Steinem
© 2009 by Alice Walker
She is the one
who will notice
that the first snapdragon
of Spring
is
in bloom;
She is the one
who will tell the most
funny
&
complicated
joke.
She is the one
who will surprise you
by knowing the difference
between turnips
and collard
Greens;
& between biscuits
& scones.
She is the one who knows where
to take you
for dancing
or where the food
& the restaurant's
decor
are not
to be
missed.
She is the one
who is saintly.
She is the one
who reserves the right
to dress
like a slut.
She is the one
who takes you shopping;
She is the one
who knows where
the best clothes
are bought
cheap.
She is the one
who warms your
home
with her fragrance;
the one who brings
music, magic & joy.
She is the one
speaking
the truth
from her heart.
She is the one at the bedside
wedding, funerals
or divorce
of all the best people
you dearly love.
She is the one
with courage.
She is the one
who speaks
her bright mind;
She is the one
who encourages young &
old
to do the same.
She is the one
on the picket line, at the barricade,
at the prison, in jail;
She is the one
who is there.
If they come for me
& I am at her house
I know
she will hide me.
If I tell her
where I have hidden
my heart
she will keep
my secret
safe.
She is the one
who
without hesitation
comes to my aid &
my defense.
She is the one
who believes
my side of the story
First;
She is the one
whose heart
is open.
She is the one who loves.
She is the one who makes
activism
the most compelling
because she is the one
who is irresistable
her own self.
She is our sister, our teacher, our friend:
Gloria Steinem.
Google Golda Meir if you don’t know who she is.
When Golda Meir was in Africa
When Golda Meir
Was in Africa
She shook out her hair
And combed it
Everywhere she went.
According to her autobiography
Africans loved this.
In Russia, Minneapolis, London, Washington, D.C.,
Germany, Palestine, Tel Aviv and
Jerusalem
She never combed at all.
There was no point. In those
Places people said, "She looks like
Any other aging grandmother. She looks
Like a troll. Let's sell her cookery
And guns."
"Kreplach your cookery," said Golda.
Only in Africa could she finally
Settle down and comb her hair.
The children crept up and stroked it,
And she felt beautiful.
Such wonderful people, Africans
Childish, arrogant, self-indulgent, pompous,
Cowardly and treacherous-a great disappointment
To Israel, of course, and really rather
Ridiculous in international affairs
But, withal, opined Golda, a people of charm
And good taste.
I Said to Poetry
I said to Poetry: "I'm finished
with you."
Having to almost die
before some weird light
comes creeping through
is no fun.
"No thank you, Creation,
no muse need apply.
I’m out for good times-at the very least,
some painless convention."
Poetry laid back
and played dead
until this morning.
I wasn't sad or anything,
only restless.
Poetry said: "You remember
the desert, and how glad you were
that you have an eye
to see it with? You remember
that, if ever so slightly?"
I said: "I didn't hear that.
Besides, it's five o'clock in the a.m.
I'm not getting up
in the dark
to talk to you."
Poetry said: "But think about the time
you saw the moon
over that small canyon
that you liked so much better
than the grand one--and how surprised you were
that the moonlight was green
and you still had
one good eye
to see it with
Think of that!"
"I'll join the church!" I said,
huffily, turning my face to the wall.
"I'll learn how to pray again!"
"Let me ask you," said Poetry.
"When you pray, what do you think
you'll see?"
Poetry had me.
"There's no paper
in this room," I said.
"And that new pen I bought
makes a funny noise."
"Bullshit," said Poetry.
"Bullshit," said I.
Think about the female figures in your life as you read the following poem by Walker.
Women
They were women then
My mama’s generation
Husky of voice—stout of
Step
With fists as well as
Hands
How they battered down
Doors
And ironed
Starched white
Shirts
How they led
Armies
Headragged generals
Across mined
Fields
Booby-trapped
Ditches
To discover books
Desks
A place for us
How they knew what we
Must know
Without knowing a page
Of it
Themselves.
Before you knew you owned it by Alice Walker
Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.
Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.
Discover the reason why
So tiny human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.