Elizabeth Fry Page

“BluesElizabeth Alexander, 1962I am lazy, the laziestgirl in the world. I sleep duringthe day when I want to, ‘tilmy face is creased and swollen,‘til my lips are dry and hot. I eat as I please: cookies and milkafter lunch, butter and sour creamon my baked potato, foods thatslothful people eat, that turnyellow and opaque beneath the skin.Sometimes come dinnertime SundayI am still in my nightgown, the onewith the lace trim listing becauseI have not mended it. Many daysI do not exercise, onlyconsider it, then rub my curdybelly and lie down. Evenmy poems are lazy. I usesyllabics instead of iambs,prefer slant to the gong of full rhyme,write briefly while others gofor pages. And yesterday,for example, I did not work at all!I got in my car and I drove to factory outlet stores, purchasedstockings and panties and sockswith my father’s money.To think, in childhood I missed onlyone day of school per year. I wentto ballet class four days a weekat four-forty-five and onSaturdays, beginning alwayswith plie, ending with curtsy.To think, I knew only industry,the industry of my raceand of immigrants, the radiotuned always to the stationthat said, Line up your summerjob months in advance. Work hardand do not shame your family,who worked hard to give you what you have.There is no sin but sloth. Burnto a wick and keep moving.I avoided sleep for years,up at night replaying evening news stories aboutnearby jailbreaks, fat peoplewho ate fried chicken and woke updead. In sleep I am lookingfor poems in the shape of openV’s of birds flying in formation,or open arms saying, I forgive you, all.””