Poem by Gail D., Canada

CONFESSIONS OF JEMIMA

There was a little girl
And she wore a little curl
Right down the middle of
Her forehead ...

i jemima will not spend my little life among taboos & submission i jemima will choose the will that was given me to do & doing one day i will combat this fear this sphere here where mother hungers for ritual ceremoniously fasting & eating & praying to gods gods without shape or substance without substance she is never satisfied satisfied never in her garden of cacti & thorn
bushes her garden of guilt & shame she works
in her garden in her silence i jemima will not
wear the hood of blood the good hood of blood
that hides mother's misery-carved face gracing
our common genesis genesis to which my soul
is condemned damned in this little life this horrid
world of dark beginnings beginning with the
scarlet immortal fruit the fruitless badge of dis
honour dishonouring our common genesis with
burden burdening our wombness for centuries
scenting my skin skin benumbed & scarred &
benumbed for some soul's content contending
with mother's discipline mother's discontent
discipline whipped out of the unconscious
out of the consequence not out of love con
sequently consciously i jemima will not spend
my little life among taboos & submission i will
choose the will that was given me to do today ...