Perhaps this very instant is your time.

Women have no wilderness in them They are provident instead Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread.

It is almost impossible for the poetess, once laurelled, to take off the crown for good or to reject values and taste of those who tender it.

Up from the bronze, I saw Water without a flaw Rush to its rest in air Reach to its rest, and fall.

...in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart.

But is there any reason to believe that a woman's spiritual fibre is less sturdy than a man's? Is it not possible for a woman to come to terms with herself if not with the world; to withdraw more and more, as time goes on, her own personality from her productions; to stop childish fears of death and eschew charming rebellions against facts?

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.