Whose ease?

How often has my own depression been

A stage play dramatizing the tension

Between my version of integrity

And what this culture tells me I can be?

Wrapped in black brown yellow skin, bearing this

Or that apparatus between my legs,

What versions of my integrity will

Feed the beast that is this culture’s ease?

And what peril do I invite if I

Disturb that universe of set, proscribed


The cultural dis ease demands that I

Dis integrate certain ways of being—

Dis re membering them, swapping certain

Parts for somewhat less disruptive new (w)holes.

I recollect how the Soviets used

To label dissidents as crazed, and

So they were, unsettling the discourse

That structured their society.

How recently we named as illness ways

of framing a self that unsettled us.

Said only a dis eased man would seek to

Surrender the role of female screwing, guarding

Guy; how only a dis eased woman would

Refuse to chase a man’s satisfaction

Rather than her own, would find fulfillment

Sexual romantic emotional

Only in another woman’s embrace

My television teaches me dis ease

Will generate pathology, birth some

Criminal mind that runs amok, threatens

Those sent from central casting to play the

Role of helpless, hapless, clueless victim.

Two birds with one stone: dis ease demonized,

female weakness neatly reasserted.

What do I do, then, with my dissident

Integrities? Acknowledge I am in

A criminal enterprise that seeks to

know its own mind, its own skin, regardless,

and realize that ease is not the aim.

Welcoming now a Kairos-times chaos.

Erase the seeming gap so I can then

set discipline and self acceptance dancing.


2 thoughts on “Whose ease?

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