
From the First-Issue Collective
Toward Socialist Feminism
Tijuana Maid
Women in the Community Mural Movement
Women and Honor: Some Notes on Lying
Adman
Zucchini Poem
The Art of Not Bowing: Writing by Women in Prison
Astrology Hype
Ten Ways of Looking at Prison Lunch
Alone
La Roquette, Women's Prison
Fays, Floozies, and Philosphical Flaws
The Esthetics of Power in Modern Erotic Art
ABCS
Do You Think
the empress anastasia in new york
Dead in Bloody Snow
Notes From the First Year
Feminist Abstract Art--A Poltical Viewpoint
"Female Experience in Art": The Impact of Women's Art in a Work Environment
The Pink Glass Swan: Upward and Downward Mobility in the Art World
Juggling Contradictions: Feminism, the Individual and What's Left
Moratorium: Front Lawn: 1970
Who Are We? What Do We Want? What Do We Do?
On Women's Refusal to Celebrate Male Creativity
What is Left?
Around Coming Around
Wages for Housework: The Strategy for Women's Liberation
Notes From the First Year
(for my sisters, a trilogy of revolution)
Susan Saxe
I. Patience
There is no need now to rush about my life,
I have time, each day, to unfold
carefully, my rage —
no longer impotent,
But the most powerful force in the universe.
(Do you hear me, Mother?)
Slowly like a sunflower, like a tree,
Revolution unfolds before me:
Newspaper pages beginning with world news,
and ending with the comics,
and classified ads announcing the end
of things as we know them.
Inevitably the world, the nation, the city,
the arts, society, sports
and personals
will be recycled
By patient origamists, armed with love.
II. Questionnaire
There is unfeminine (but oh, so Female)
sureness in my hands,
checking "No." to every question
in the Harris poll, Reader's Digest,
Mademoiselle,
I am an outlaw, so none of that applies to me:
I do not vote in primaries, do not wish to increase
my spending power, do not take birth control
pills.
I do not have a legal residence, cannot tell you
my given name or how (sometimes very) old
I really am.
I do not travel abroad, see no humor in uniforms,
and my lips are good enough for my lover
as they are.
Beyond that, no one heads my household, I would not
save my marriage if I had one, or anybody else's
if I could.
I do not believe that politicians need me, that Jesus
loves me, or that short men are particularly sexy.
Nor do l want a penis.
What else do you have to offer?
III. I Argue My Case
Gentlemen of the Jury:
I have had the time and opportunity to appear
before you in the guise
(disguise) of every woman:
to you, sir, I was the dumb hand
that wiped your
table,
to you, sir, a flimsy black
skirt on legs,
to you, some hard
down-on-me woman who might
(or might not) yet
be downed again.
To him, an ass,
to him, a breast, a leg
to him.
To that one, just another working bitch.
To each, another history, to each
another (partial) lie.
We women are liars, you say.
(It is written.)
But you have made us so.
We are too much caught up in cycles, you say.
But your gods cannot prevent that.
So we act out our cycles,
one or many,
in the rhythm of what has to be
(because we say so)
our common destiny.
And so, before you are taken in by one of our
perfect circles,
remember also that we are in perfect
motion.
And when you (and you will)
run counter to the flow of revolution,
the wheel of women will continue to turn,
and grind you
so fine.
Susan Saxe wrote this and other poems while she was living underground as a fugitive for 4½ years, during which time she was on the F.B.I.'s. Ten Most Wanted List for "overall radical activities." On March 27, 1975, she was arrested in Philadelphia and since then has been tried for allegedly taking part in a Boston bank robbery 7 years ago in which a policeman was killed. Saxe became "a feminist, a lesbian, a woman-identified woman" while underground. She is now in prison awaiting sentence.
Reprinted from Talk Among the Womanfolk, Susan Saxe, Philadelphia, Pa., 1976. Susan Saxe.