Added: Sheika Flint - Date: 08.01.2022 18:03 - Views: 17569 - Clicks: 8993
However, she does so while acknowledging the generations of women who have sewn together traditions of resistance and resilience in the face of misogyny and machsimo.
Hembra is to let men bite your mouth until it bleeds. This is achieved in poems that contrast men as static villains with women as dynamic agents of transformation. Scenters-Zapico is aware of how her poetry may or may not perpetuate false narratives or hyperbolic stereotypes of life along the border. She counters this dangerous possibility by directly inserting herself into the very themes and spaces she writes about — occasionally writing metacognitively about poetic craft when describing the lives of real women at risk. She even calls out the outsiders who treat the border as a simplified warzone of news coverage.
The New York Times said the women. The contemplative and unbeautified nature of this poem underscores ethical issues of writing about femicide. Although she claims to resist artful intentionality, the poem maintains craft and line work at a masterful level, a contradiction that creates tension. With these declarations, the book attempts to cross beyond the borders of poetry into human documentation, at times concerned more with the integrity of the subject matter rather than that of poetic formality.
These poems and their techniques are unfiltered and bitter and ruthless in their look at the lives of those who — due to cultural, socioeconomic, and political circumstances — are most vulnerable to being sliced open and ravaged at their cores.
You must be logged in to post a comment. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
My body: the table where strangers sit to be served as king in a court of cross-stitched felons. By feeding the children first, the women break the fast. This is an unbeautiful poem — uncrafted with sterile diction. I have failed.
That last line break shows I still want to build tension, but the pain in my feet from marching with these women, the sour taste in my mouth from wearing a surgical mask with these women as a woman, may never leave me. This poem, my failed re-creation — their protest a failed resuscitation. Share on Facebook. Tweet this. Leave a Reply Cancel reply You must be logged in to post a comment.Single woman want real sex Limon
email: [email protected] - phone:(467) 720-3657 x 4760