WEBVTT

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Women have, obviously,
cycles like the moon.

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My next poem is about this--
about the ever changing variety

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of a woman.

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In the poem, which is called
"Nude With a Red Handbag,"

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this particular woman,
this particular nude,

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at the worst part of her
cycle hurls her handbag

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at her friend in
horror at the death

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which is in the relationship,
because at the point

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of menstruation she realizes
that yet another death has

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occurred.

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The relationship
is unproductive.

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It's about the changing
feelings in the woman

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and the response of the man.

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I refer in it to Lucy.

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Lucy is the Virgin Saint of
the winter solstice, the sort

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of lowest point of the year.

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"Nude With a Red Handbag."

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This menstruous
nude with handbag

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red and stuffed hurls it with
all her sorrows at my head.

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My menstruous nude with
handbag stuffed and red

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has with her air of walking
naked bluffed the world

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to think she bares
herself alone.

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Now what cargo of
dead weights ballast

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pours from her flowering open
handbag, falling through air.

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Sunspot engendering storms,
collapsing sandstone.

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She who is my trapped,
my trappist model,

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makes her own self-portrait,
mixing blood with air.

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She laughs and weeps to
see her certain failure.

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Love letters tumbling
from her pallet box

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are slender tombstones,
ancient fever charts.

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I turn to console her,
turn to dry her tears,

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already in fallopian
sky, her satellite

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veers to the dark
start of the crescent.

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She squats, absorbed in
perilous, Delphic mysteries,

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like one plugging a
hole with dynamite,

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then puts our love back
on, no longer tight.

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Caresses, smiles,
surprised at my surprise.

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Once more she is my Lucy of
the solstice, Madonna light,

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emerging from the pilot
cabin in her guise

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of the blue stewardess to
hijack me from my false flight.

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Almost she has forgotten
that another fruitless month

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has fallen from the calendar.

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She gathers up her
bag, and it is slender.

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Its clasps join smoothly
as we move together.

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It seems to her so
clear that any nude who

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lugs from death to
death a stuffed red bag,

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and turns each moon
into a blistered hag

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must be allowed her
cave of solitude.

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