Yeah.
Going along with what I learned in those wonderful Latin
American Women's Literature courses,
I was imbued with concepts related to marianismo.
And for those of you who've studied feminist theory,
the concepts are the same with a Catholic overlay.
You're either a virgin, a wife, a mother, or a nun.
And then there's only one other thing.
So--
[LAUGHTER]
So in this context, I was a single mother at age 20--
a single mother on welfare to make matters worse.
And so for my experience, and on behalf of my experience
and of all the women of my generation
who went through this process and this alienation
and isolation from family, I dedicate this poem
called "Other Marias."
"Once there were 50 Marias, each with 50 lovers.
There was Maria Luz, the secretary,
who crooned Latin-French-Spanish to her Brazilian sailor,
the son of a diplomat, who brought her music
boxes from Las Vegas, where he slept with Maria del Pilar who
lay with the Finnish carpenter who stroked her calves as
if to raise the grain on a staircase finial.
Maria de los Dolores caught a lash
from the bricklayer whose dust raised welts on her shoulders.
While Maria Elena fixed paella for the Spaniard
who sneered at her Yankee taste for sweet beef and lettuce,
always lettuce at every meal.
Maria de las Rosas snuck Marxist tracks
into the copy room for her Tijuana lover
so he could multiply them hundredfold
for his morenita, Maria la Negra from Cuba,
who scored at a Venceremos Brigade
with the insurance sales boyfriend of Maria
de Jesus, mother of a two-year-old, who,
awaiting trial on drug smuggling charges,
caught her lawyer's eye.
Which provoked his mother, Maria de los Remedios,
who refused to bless their union saying her son, who
would make a fine judge, should marry a pure Maria, undefiled,
not this Maria with child, who favored the creak and sproing
of cheap motel beds, the smoke white scent of pliant sons
who matched her rising rhythm.
Not to this passionate Maria, definitely not a virgin."
It's a get-even poem.
[LAUGHTER]