a feminist on her balcony

Hosanna in the highest!
it is the eastern gate,
and she, our Artemis,
dances
feral and abandoned,
her kingdom
sprawling
on soft beds
of underarm hair

Hear my psalm, harvest moon,
and baptize my tongue
in prophetic soils
and with my tears, let us paint
our words, with muddy
warpaint
and righteousness

Behold, I become
a savage altar;
a funeral pyre
where smolders
all the hateful lies
that bearded women are ugly.

Purify me under fire
and cleanse me of the million
coppered faces;
of old, dead white men
who have glared at me,
from the bottoms
of mall fountains, boasting of
wealth that would always
be out of my reach.

Let us melt them!
cast their stolen splendor
into a gleaming crown
that I shall wear when I am—
slut
whore
prude
skank
dyke
jezebel
cunt
bitch
—whatever I choose to be.