Dedicated to the weave of women and some men, of her generation, with whom my mother worked and plotted and cooked:

I have not taken their names out of

conversation   gossip   political argument

my telephone book or card index in

whatever alphabetical or contextual

organizer   I can stop any evening of

the lonesome week at Claiborne Bissinger Bercovici

Vernarelli Gandall Deming and rest a moment

on their seriousness as artists   workers

their excitement as political actors in the

streets of our cities or in their workplaces

the vigiling   fasting   praying in or out

of jail   their lightheartedness which floated

above the year’s despair

their courageous sometimes hilarious

disobediences before the state’s official

servants   their fidelity to the idea that

it is possible with only a little extra anguish

to live in this world   at an absolute minimum

loving brainy sexual energetic redeemed

—from “Sisters”