The Woman in the Ordinary by Marge Piercy

The woman in the ordinary pudgy downcast girl
is crouching with eyes and muscles clenched.
Round and pebble smooth she effaces herself
under ripples of conversation and debate.
The woman in the block of ivory soap
has massive thighs that neigh,
great breasts that blare and strong arms that trumpet.
The woman of the golden fleece
laughs uproariously from the belly
inside the girl who imitates
a Christmas card virgin with glued hands,
who fishes for herself in other's eyes,
who stoops and creeps to make herself smaller.
In her bottled up is a woman peppery as curry,
a yam of a woman of butter and brass,
compounded of acid and sweet like a pineapple,
like a handgrenade set to explode,
like goldenrod ready to bloom.

by Marge Piercy

Other poems by 'Marge Piercy'

To the Pay Toilet

Traveling Dream

For the Young Who Want To

The Seven Of Pentacles

Belly Good

Always Unsuitable

Winter Promises

The Morning Half-Life Blues

Implications of One Plus One

Attack of the Squash People

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