Recitation

I love reciting this poem. For me, there’s a glimmer of sadness embedded in the sardonic wit, and there’s also a small epiphany within it for me, in the line “thewoman wasnot/quite Fourteen till she smiled/then/Centuries.” There’s an acknowledgment of feminine wisdom and knowledge that’s generally lacking in masculine poetry, and there’s something in her value being double that of the room. I, of course, know she’s worth much more than that. There’s also something else in that six for me outside of dollars, an echo of Persephone’s pomegranate seeds perhaps, or maybe some other allusion I can’t articulate, but this poem does what poetry should do—it makes me look at things differently.