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Always unsuitable
Opening night last night rocked! You should all come catch one of the remaining three shows!
It was a treat to see a whole bunch of people there, especially![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kimberlogic, and tigerbright, who I think was the one to say admiringly, "How did it feel to play someone so COMPLETELY UNLIKE YOURSELF?!" :-) Which isn't exactly how I've been thinking of Sophia, but I can see the strength of the assertion. Earthy, she is not.
Which in turn reminds me this morning that I've been meaning for some time to post this Marge Piercy poem, as it has come up for me in a couple of contexts the past 10-12 months, and somehow not everyone already knows it. (It's not directly me, either*, but there are some occasional resonances.)
Always Unsuitable
Marge Piercy
She wore little teeth of pearls around her neck.
They were grinning politely and evenly at me.
Unsuitable they smirked. It is true
I look a stuffed turkey in a suit. Breasts
too big for the silhouette. She knew
at once that we had sex, lots of it
as if I had strolled into her diningroom
in a dirty negligee smelling gamy
smelling fishy and sporting a strawberry
on my neck. I could never charm
the mothers, although the fathers ogled
me. I was exactly what mothers had warned
their sons against. I was quicksand
I was trouble in the afternoon. I was
the alley cat you don't bring home.
I was the dirty book you don't leave out
for your mother to see. I was the center-
fold you masturbate with then discard.
Where I came from, the nights I had wandered
and survived, scared them, and where
I would go they never imagined.
Ah, what you wanted for your sons
were little ladies hatched from the eggs
of pearls like pink and silver lizards
cool, well behaved and impervious
to desire and weather alike. Mostly
that's who they married and left.
Oh, mamas, I would have been your friend.
I would have cooked for you and held you.
I might have rattled the windows
of your sorry marriages, but I would
have loved you better than you know
how to love yourselves, bitter sisters.
*For instance, I'm often reminded of this poem in the context of gratitude for being relatively small-breasted, because I find that it actually makes me project 'thinner' overall and feel more streamlined/athletic than I otherwise would. Not to say I don't admire those of you who are stacked, 'cause I do, but being built the way I am also has its advantages.
P.S. I am thinking of getting dinner before tonight's 6:30pm show call time: at Stone Hearth Pizza in Belmont Center, 5:30pm. (Could even be earlier, I'm not working past 4pm.) Anyone want to join me?
It was a treat to see a whole bunch of people there, especially
kimberlogic, and tigerbright, who I think was the one to say admiringly, "How did it feel to play someone so COMPLETELY UNLIKE YOURSELF?!" :-) Which isn't exactly how I've been thinking of Sophia, but I can see the strength of the assertion. Earthy, she is not.Which in turn reminds me this morning that I've been meaning for some time to post this Marge Piercy poem, as it has come up for me in a couple of contexts the past 10-12 months, and somehow not everyone already knows it. (It's not directly me, either*, but there are some occasional resonances.)
Always Unsuitable
Marge Piercy
She wore little teeth of pearls around her neck.
They were grinning politely and evenly at me.
Unsuitable they smirked. It is true
I look a stuffed turkey in a suit. Breasts
too big for the silhouette. She knew
at once that we had sex, lots of it
as if I had strolled into her diningroom
in a dirty negligee smelling gamy
smelling fishy and sporting a strawberry
on my neck. I could never charm
the mothers, although the fathers ogled
me. I was exactly what mothers had warned
their sons against. I was quicksand
I was trouble in the afternoon. I was
the alley cat you don't bring home.
I was the dirty book you don't leave out
for your mother to see. I was the center-
fold you masturbate with then discard.
Where I came from, the nights I had wandered
and survived, scared them, and where
I would go they never imagined.
Ah, what you wanted for your sons
were little ladies hatched from the eggs
of pearls like pink and silver lizards
cool, well behaved and impervious
to desire and weather alike. Mostly
that's who they married and left.
Oh, mamas, I would have been your friend.
I would have cooked for you and held you.
I might have rattled the windows
of your sorry marriages, but I would
have loved you better than you know
how to love yourselves, bitter sisters.
*For instance, I'm often reminded of this poem in the context of gratitude for being relatively small-breasted, because I find that it actually makes me project 'thinner' overall and feel more streamlined/athletic than I otherwise would. Not to say I don't admire those of you who are stacked, 'cause I do, but being built the way I am also has its advantages.
P.S. I am thinking of getting dinner before tonight's 6:30pm show call time: at Stone Hearth Pizza in Belmont Center, 5:30pm. (Could even be earlier, I'm not working past 4pm.) Anyone want to join me?