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