Divisions of LaborAdrianne Rich

The revolutions wheel, compromise, utter their statements:a new magazine appears, mastheaded with old names,an old magazine polishes up its actwith deconstructions of the prose of Malcolm XThe women in the back rows of politicsare still licking thread to slip into the needle’seye, trading bones for plastic, splitting podsfor necklaces to sell to the cruise-shipsproducing immaculate First Communion dresseswith flatiron and irresolute hot waterstill fitting the microscopic golden wiresinto the silicon chipsstill teaching, watching the childrenquenched in the crossfire alleys, the flashflood gulliesthe kerosene flashfires—the women whose labor remakes the worldeach and every morning

I have seen a woman sittingbetween the stove and the starsher fingers singed from snuffing out the candlesof pure theory Finger and thumb; both scorched:I have felt that sacred wax blister my hand