In Simone de Beauvoir's Head

This man is an animal

motivated purely

by his own primordial

instinct

Not the instinct to procreate

rather the urge to take

possession of another

without their permission

Worming his way into her

delicate psyche

he penetrates her mind

first

Winds his way through her

limbic system

leaving her aching

wanting more

Then he moves down to her heart

and takes his meaty grasp of it

squeezing, pulsing he takes control

she concedes

With mind and heart secured

he knows

he has control of her

sex

Then - and only then

he releases his grasp

she falls disconnected

through space and time

Where is he

the one who will save her

she is lost

scared

She begs him to take her again

into his possession

being owned feels safe
she mistakes this for love

He obliges for he knows

she will reward him

passionately

with great fervor

And he will do this

catch and release

until she is weakened and

torn apart from her own soul

She is wholly dependent

utterly shattered

He won the prize

killed the big game

Job done

he tosses her lifeless empty body

on top of the pile with all

the rest

I wrote this jagged mess of a poem after reading the first couple of chapters

of The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir several weeks ago.

My thoughts are a tangled mass of feminism, misogynism, and general gender disparity. Fortunately for you, it's after 11:00 PM and I'm exhausted

so I'll save my femi-nazi diatribe for another time.

-Shannon

Calling All Women

I’m addicted to “Iconoclasts” – a fantastic, amazing, life-changing series shown on the Sundance Channel.

i·con·o·clast n. 1. One who seeks to overthrow traditional or popular ideas or institutions.

Pair two iconoclasts and film them as they spend time getting to know one another and something magical and awe-inspiring happens! A couple of months ago, I watched an episode of the show featuring Alicia Keys (27) and Ruby Dee (83). They discuss life, life as women, life as women of color, relationships, etc...

At one point, near the end of the program, the two women continue their discussion in a concert hall, on stage, at the piano, sitting on the same piano bench. In the midst of their conversation, Ms. Dee begins to recite "Calling All Women," a poem that she wrote many years ago (actual date unknown). With her unique and passionate cadence, she evokes the piece effortlessly and, from memory, belts it out like a total rock star.

It took a little doing, but I was granted permission to re-print Ms. Dee’s poem on Venus In Combat Boots (thank you, Veronika!). It brings me great pleasure to share with you, “Calling All Women” by Ruby Dee:

Calling All Women

Calling all sisters. Calling all

Righteous sisters.

Calling all women. To steal away

To our secret place. Have a meeting

Face to face. Look at the facts

And determine our pace. Calling all

Women.

We want to reach – first and second

And

Third world women

Come together!

Women in and outside the power structure –

Working women,

Welfare women,

Women who feel alienated and isolated

Women who are all frustrated

Women who have given up – women – women

Questioning women – women

Unpolarized and unorganized.

Ostracized. Tired of being penalized

Come help us start to bridge the gaps

Racial, cultural, or generation

We want some action and veneration.

These men, these men they

Just ain’t doing it.

They’ve had hundreds of years

Now they ‘bout to ruin it.

Kitchen, office, ex-prison women

Old and young and middle-aged women

Make this scene

Oh yes, and bring your lunch!

Problems, problems common problems

That we make and cause each other

Sister, daughter, old grandmother

Female child you can bring your little brother

Take the subway, grad a cab

Saddle your mule

Bike it, limo

Take a choo-choo, fly

Or pick ‘em up and lay ‘em down.

Socialism, capitalism, communism

Feminism, womanism, lesbianism

Here-and-now or futurism

We just can’t afford a schism

We got to get together or die.

Now is the time for an evolution

Let’s all search and find a solution

For how we’ll make it to the next revolution

Or die.
Oh yes. And don’t forget your lunch!

This material is used by permission of John Wiley & Sons, Inc. From the 1987 book by Ruby Dee, My One Good Nerve, available at www.Amazon.com.