It keeps ringing in my mind, the question—will this satisfy? Does this satisfy my bearing body, mind, and soul?
A while back, just after some new friends asked us to bring poems to their party, Berry’s “Manifesto” entered my ears. Thank God, too, for I felt I had lost my mooring; I did not find my bare and pregnant footing secure on the Liberation Front, but felt instead tucked away somewhere in the back behind selfish sentimentality and careless caution, shut in the “mothers’ room,” it seemed, away from the unction and the action.
And then I remembered those words, words that had once called a congregation to worship through me, through my all-woman, dress-clad, wild-haired body. I remembered those words, that question—“will this satisfy a woman satisfied to bear a child?”