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A Woman's Word: Poetry for Women

by Cara Finegan

78 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-0249; ISBN 1-4120-2421-8; US$13.00, C$16.00, EUR10.00, £7.00

Wonderful women gifted with healing ways persecuted, tortured, executed... Women who danced, celebrating natures glory with outstretched arms, heads flying back, hair untied... Times when a woman's word...

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Poetry reflecting the courage, strength, hardships and endeavours that every woman experiences on her journey through life. Poetry about the highs and lows of womanhood ranging from being in love to being a victim of violence and abuse, from being a witch to searching for God, from being a child to losing a child.

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About the Author Cara Finegan was born in Newry in Northern Ireland in 1972. She was qualified as a Primary School teacher from St. Mary's College, Belfast in 1995 after studying Drama and English. She married in 1995 and has now three children. Cara started writing poetry at 16 having been inspired by her mother, Kathleen Finegan.

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Excerpts

ENTREES

Veins in neck bulge as if to burst.
Screaming into my face but I can't hear it.
Trying to think about something else to lessen the pain.

Calmness and indifference only encourages more anger.
Feeling the punch to my stomach I think of the oven,
I can't remember if I've left it on!

The squeeze on my neck is too tight,
I sense panic rising in my stomach, it grips me like his grasp.
I try to plead, but nothing, then he realises and lets go.

Each time going a little further,
Even now the dark ages haven't left us yet.
I swallow the thick metallic taste left in my numb mouth.

He calls me martyr, bitch and worse.
I go to check what I can salvage from the damage done to dinner.
From behind his arms come round me; 'Sorry' and 'I love you' hurt me more.

STILL SINGLE WHITE FEMALE

Hangover blurs into hangover, searching for some
Mottled picture of the night before.
Stepping over clothes that are too young and barely fit.
The thirty something worn out image of a
'Used to be a looker' looks back.
Makeup still plastered and stale, smudged around
Crows feet already making their impression.
Dyed, dishevelled hair, crisp with hairspray stands on end.
Cringes as realisation sets in once again, as always.
Still on the hunt for Mr. Right but too desperate
To turn away all the Mr. Wrongs.
Nothing to show for over a decade of 'putting out the signals'.
Clocks tick, tocking away time like a terrifying night train.
Searches the mirror for some semblance of dignity left untouched.

DAMAGE

Slow, stinging blinks reveal half shafts of
Throbbing light into heavy sodden brain.
Eyes refusing to invert upside down
Images of fluid faces... And bodies
Merging into one another, or on top of
Some poor limp being whose leaden limbs,
Paralysed with drugs and drink,
Refuse to move, fight or protest
Against the demolition of dignity.
As legs splayed, carefully chosen skirt
Forced up as each one takes a turn.
Laughing, hypnotising voices filter through
Into fudge filled ears. Spinning, spinning.
Beer breath breathed harshly onto face.
Jarring, jolting, hammering nails into the gut.
Trickles of sticky warmth slither down
Thighs seeming to belong to someone else.
Nightmare fades to drugged sleep.
Rude awakening succumbs to traumatised
Terror, revealing full extent of damage done.

MISTRESS

Room is ready, expertly emblazoned with candles
Whose perfumed scent envelopes the very
Bed sheets that have been cleaned and pressed,
Waiting for him to come.

Wine is chilled and breathing, ready to pour
Like the words he will say to her tonight
Telling of his love and desire, convincing her to
Open heart and legs once more.

Music soft and seductive fills the air of this
Immaculately set scene whose objective is to
Make him want to stay, to care for her instead,
To love her like his wife.

She checks her reflection, reapplying lipstick.
Smoothing the satin of specially selected
Underwear and straightening stockings so that
Just a glimpse of flesh is seen.

But clock chimes away each long arriving hour.
She blows the candles out and drinks the wine,
Crying into her glass while feeling sick with
Temper and with pain.

Cursing this life she has chosen to live of
Loving a man who belongs to someone else.
Wine bottle smashes on the mirror that reveals
Mockery masquerading as glamour.

Tomorrow he will ring, his apologies dripping with
Honey and lavish promises that will never keep.
She'll forget for a while and give him what he
Says he's missing..

Until the years fly by and she wakens to the
Fact that she's alone, with no one for herself.
Wasted life and love accepting 'hand me downs'
And 'second bests'.

STILLBIRTH

Your life inside of me is still.
Still and dead.

No more kicking at my tummy.
No more keeping me awake at night.
Still and dead.

Words of encouragement ring hollow.
Telling me to 'push'
Still and dead.

A little dark head.
A tiny lifeless body.
Still and dead.

No baby's cry.
They put you in my arms.
Still and dead.

Perfect tiny fingers.
Perfect tiny toes.
Still and dead.

Perfect little ears.
Perfect little nose.
Still and dead.

Perfect little body.
Tiny rosebud lips.
Still and dead.

My perfect little baby boy.
Still dead.
Still dead.

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Catalogue Information

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