Erica Jong Poems

Black ship of night
sailing through the world
& the moon an orange slice
tangy to the teeth
...

If you ask him he will talk for hours--
how at fourteen he hammered signs, fingers
raw with cold, and later painted bowers
in ladies' boudoirs; how he played checkers
...

At the edge of the body
there is said to be
a flaming halo-
yellow, red, blue
...

What is the central passion
of a life?
To please mummy & daddy?
To find a home for their furniture?
...

Meathooks, notebooks,
the whole city sky palely flaming
& spectral bombs
hitting that patch of river
...

Next birthday
I am thirty-six,
& formed (for all intents
& purposes)
...

Every month,
the reminder of emptiness
so that you are tuned
to your bodyharp,
...

Because I would not admit
that I had nurtured
an enemy within my breast-
...

Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
...

The best slave
does not need to be beaten.
She beats herself.
...