This is a poem in which a woman speaks, it's called "Give Back,
Give Back."
If I married him for length, none was so little so long.
How think to explain it.
Words I have known are now his.
His weight rests under my pillow I have nothing for floating.
My children are of groceries and not
of love, none has fallen for years,
none come crying as if the middle years were trying
to break me of my life working.
I am not so lucky for looking.
On the white sheet of his will my children
inherited the objects of original pleasure, his
for which I gave up pleasure for pleasure in pleasure
to pleasure.
I am the lot of him as is my wont.
Yet have wanted to wear the ring of him,
hear it and recreate it.
Into the night those marriages go to which
women is bound to be used.
All over I hear the breathing pause
at the long entrance of the children.