That's it, they are sick of being looked at, of maintaining the je
ne sais quoi, the voulez-vous, and above all, of struggling to remain
light under the weight of our gaze.
They are tired of trying to live at our level for truly, have they not
always been other than us: the blondes that go by in the grass, the
glossy blondes, finely turned; the slenderest, leggy ones?
And we, who were struck dumb by the slow turn of their heads
and were reminded then of our most shameful moments, weren't
we always beside them, and darkly, like shadows of ship? Aren't
we to blame for their refusing to be viewed, for their withdrawal
into the celestial world, for the piles of empty stilettos which were
our little, strappy cathedrals? And there's no picket line of course.
Just us here in the city, alone, haunted, as any chorus.
Sign Inventory:
- Poem format/stylistic structure completely different from the other poems in the collection
- Piece is a prose-poem
- Poem is more informative, more of a impersonal story
- Poem makes itself available because of its structure and "prose" language
- Concluding stanza is considerably more lengthy than the former two, why?
- Final stanza seems to really drive home in emphasis and in conduct/critique... perhaps?
- Free-Verse
- Why blondes? Why this specific critique?
- Notice the author isn't just classifying a single set of people, she is addressing the impersonal "we"/"our"
- If the poet's typical format (as seen throughout the whole collection) is to provide the writer with a voice, then what exactly does this piece do for the poet's voice? That is, what is the author trying to achieve-maybe in a different way-through this black-sheep structured poem?
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