an ode to bradstreet

I'm not Anne Bradstreet

quill against my paper

vulgar words inked on

a Puritan gasp would erupt

my words aren't as pretty and small as hers

you won't see me writing a letter to my husband

art couldn't fix that she was only in fact a woman

i write so that fiery bloody feminine rage lives on

for bradstreet

for lorde

for my mother and sister