to be frank (or why I write)

Kathleen Hellen

after “Why I am Not a Painter” by Frank O’Hara

Rage, i guess . . . because

i could be dangerous . . . because

(anywho) the details underlying feelings

of hostility, flicker Each time a woman

stands up for herself (said Angelou) . . . because

i can’t imagine standing sleeve-drenched

at the sink, can’t plan (like Christie could)

(unless my hands are out of dishpans) . . . because

i stood the hours (Woolf) . . . kept my mouth shut,

even when i knew that silence will not protect

you (o, Lorde!) . . . because

the oven was a bad idea . . . because

no attic can contain me . . . because

i’ve dragged this sorry dog along through marriage

after marriage . . . because

Anon who wrote so many poems was calling (woof woof woof)

from an unmarked grave.