Becoming Light by Erica Jong Page B

if there is emptiness this deep,
    there must be fullness somewhere.
    My other half!
    My life beyond this half-life!
    Is life a wound
    which dreams of being healed?
    Is love a wound which deepens
    as it dreams?
    Do you exist?
    Evidence:
    these poems in which
    I have been conjuring you,
    this book which makes your absence palpable,
    these longings printed black.
    I am exposed.
    I am a print of darkness
    on a square of film.
    I am a garbled dream
    told by a breakfast-table liar.
    I am a wound which has forgotten how to heal.
    6
    & if it wasn’t love,
    if you called me now
    across the old echo chamber of the ocean
    & said:
    “Look, I never loved you,”
    I would feel
    a little like a fool perhaps,
    & yet it wouldn’t matter.
    My business is to always feel
    a little like a fool
    & speak of it.
    & I am sure
    that when we love
    we are better than ourselves
    & when we hate,
    worse.
    & even if we call it madness later
    & scrawl four-letter words
    across those outhouse walls
    we call our skulls—
    we stand revealed
    by those sudden moments
    when we come together.
    7
    Evidence?
    Or was it just my dream
    waltzing with your dream?
    My nightmare kissing yours?
    When I awakened
    did I walk with Jacob’s limp?
    Did I sing a different song?
    Did I find the inside of my palm
    scarred as if
    (for moments) it held fire?
    Did my blood flow as riverwater flows
    around a tree stump—
    crooked, with a lilt?
    What other evidence
    did I need?

Seventeen Warnings in Search of a Feminist Poem
    For Aaron Asher
    1        Beware of the man who denounces ambition;
    his fingers itch under his gloves.
    2        Beware of the man who denounces war
    through clenched teeth.
    3        Beware of the man who denounces women writers;
    his penis is tiny & cannot spell.
    4        Beware of the man who wants to protect you;
    he will protect you from everything but himself.
    5        Beware of the man who loves to cook;
    he will fill your kitchen with greasy pots.
    6        Beware of the man who loves your soul;
    he is a bullshitter.
    7        Beware of the man who denounces his mother;
    he is a son of a bitch.
    8        Beware of the man who spells son of a bitch as one word;
    he is a hack.
    9        Beware of the man who loves death too well;
    he is taking out insurance.
    10      Beware of the man who loves life too well;
    he is a fool.
    11      Beware of the man who denounces psychiatrists;
    he is afraid.
    12      Beware of the man who trusts psychiatrists;
    he is in hock.
    13      Beware of the man who picks your dresses;
    he wants to wear them.
    14      Beware of the man you think is harmless;
    he will surprise you.
    15      Beware of the man who cares for nothing but books;
    he will run like a trickle of ink.
    16      Beware of the man who writes flowery love letters;
    he is preparing for years of silence.
    17      Beware of the man who praises liberated women;
    he is planning to quit his job.

Divorce
    Eggs boiling in a pot.
    They click
    like castanets.
    I put one in a cup
    & slice its head off.
    Under the wobbly egg white
    is my first husband.
    Look how small he’s grown
    since last we met!
    “Eat me,” he says agreeably.
    I hesitate, then bite.
    The thick yolk runs down
    my thighs.
    I take another egg
    & slice its head.
    Inside is my second husband.
    This one’s better done.
    “You liked the white,” I say,
    “I liked the yolk.”
    He doesn’t speak
    but scowls as if to say:
    “Everyone always eats me
    in the end.”
    I chew him up
    but I spit out
    his jet-black hair,
    the porcelain jackets from his teeth,
    his cufflinks, fillings,
    eyeglass frames….
    I drink my coffee
    & I read the Times.
    Another egg is boiling in the pot.

Paper Cuts
    Endless duplication of lives and objects…
    —Theodore Roethke
    I have known the imperial power of secretaries,
    the awesome indifference of receptionists,
    I have been intimidated by desk & typewriter,
    by