My womb was dryer than a bone. As fertile as the Dead Sea This was a blessing, you fool. At least we had that in common once. Then you installed a sprinkler system in your tubes that would put Dubai to shame. It's more than a waste. Fourteen children curl around you-- fat snakes, sucking food and fuel from a world sick with the lack of ambition.
I had guts. What do you have? Tumors. Living, shitting cancers. And no, I don't hate all children. They can be useful. But your infants are born of a science That gives feast Where there should be famine. Some women are not meant to be mothers-- These women must grasp other things.
Are you sick with estrogen? I was the bit inside my husband's mouth, the spur in his flank the reigns, and yes the whip and oh, I rode him well. Rode him right off his rocker And mine too.
I used a stronger force than offspring To control my husband. But do not mistake my courage for manhood. I carved myself into a queen chess piece: glass and ivory chisels my hips my breasts give me life no burden
I used my body well: Kill him, Macbeth, and you can touch me Kill her, Macbeth, and you can enter me Kill, Macbeth, and you will have me
But don't you see? I was not a woman possessed! I had him. He was mine. And through him, on him, I could ride, charge through the gates of any castle and eat: meats, fruits, thick cakes, and then, my shape would finally soften the edges blur round. My belly full.
I would be woman, then. Perhaps I could have held my blood even Perhaps like you I could have found some witch to cast a spell make me eight times the woman you are and no more Lady. no more bony hips and diamond tits, I'd have breasts full with giving
…and children. What it must be like to hold something gently, to support its fragile neck. I can’t imagine wanting this-- But then, I couldn’t keep my own life.
But were I you: Were I born yesterday, I would cherish my empty womb I would not force blood from everyone else to make up for my lack I would not wash my hands all day and curse the spot of red I would turn the fight on me instead. I would hold my own daggers See them before me: The choices women now have I would grab the metal by the blade I would cut myself on my ambition,
flipping the dagger around like a deft jester, now holding it right, holding it high I would carve off my useless breasts and make myself a man because in this time, in your world, I can.
I would scar my own flesh Before I kissed another death Because that’s the shape of things I wanted:
Not to sit beside his throne,
But to be King Macbeth.
So once I slip inside the suit, so svelte and neat, I'd sit down with you, and your eight crying heads, I'd hold them, burp them, to give you a little relief
But I must ask you: Why poison yourself with joy? I know of this need to collect bodies-- to hold them as you do or to bury them as I did
Neither of us can escape: our body counts will not make up for the power we lack