My grandfather–who died in 1970–
the year Sexual Politics was published–
.
called objects–screwdrivers, blow torches, trucks
–and sometimes even abstractions–winter,
.
pain, time–by the singular feminine
pronoun–she or her. For instance he would say,
.
I reckon she’s coming up on quitting time,
or (of a favorite hammer), I guess
.
she ain’t nowhere to be found. Kate Millett,
asked about the future of the woman’s movement,
.
said, How in the hell do I know? I don’t run it,
to which Granddad–at war with Grandmama all
.
my life but drawn to women, always polite–
would have said, Yes ma’am, can’t nobody run her.
Copyright 2019 David Huddle
David Huddle’s ninth poetry collection, My Surly Heart, will appear from LSU Press later this year.
Wow – you got it. Somehow you got it caught in words down on paper. Perfect!
Thanks.
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