Pole Dancing to Gospel Hymns
By: Andrea Gibson
Blue Blanket
Still there are days when there is no way,
not even a chance,
that I’d dare for even a second
glance at the reflection of my body in the mirror
and she knows why.
Like I know why she only cries
when she feels she’s about to lose control.
She knows how much control is worth,
knows how much a woman can lose when her power to move
is taken away
by a grip so thick with hate
it could clip the wings of Isis,
leave the next eight generations of your blood shaking.
And tonight
something inside me is breaking.
my heart beating so deep beneath the sheets of her pain
I could give every tear she’s crying a year, a name,
and a face I’d forever erase if I could.
But how much closer to free would any of us be
if even a few of us forgot
what too many women in this world cannot.
And I’m thinking, “What the hell would you tell your daughter?”
Your someday daughter
when you’d have to hold her beautiful face
to the beat-up face of this place
that hasn’t learned the meaning of
STOP
What would you tell you daughter of the womb raped empty,
the eyes swollen shut,
the gut too frightened to hold food,
the thousands upon thousands of bodies used.
It was seven minutes of the worst kind of hell.
Seven.
And she stopped believing in heaven.
distrust became her law,
fear her bible,
the only chance of survival...
don’t trust any of them.
Bolt the doors to your home,
iron-gate the windows,
walking to the car alone,
get the keys in the lock
please, please, please, please open
like already you can feel
the five-fingered noose around her neck
two-hundred pounds of hatred
digging graves into the sacred soil of your flesh
please, please, please, please open
already you’re choking for your breath
listening for the broken record of the defense,
Answer the question,
Answer the question.
Answer the question, miss!
Why am I on trial for this?
Would you talk to your daughter,
your sister, your mother like this?
I am generations of daughters, sisters, mothers
Our bodies battlefields, war grounds
beneath the weapons of your brothers’ hands.
Do you know they’ve found land mines
in broken women’s souls?
Black holes in the parts of their hearts
that once sang symphonies of creation
as bright as the light on infinity’s halo.
She says, “I remember the way love
used to glow on my skin
before he made his way in,
now every touch feels like a sin
that could crucify Medusa, Kali, Oshun, Mary
bury me in a blue blanket so god doesn’t know I’m a girl,
cut off my curls,
I want peace when I’m dead”
Her friend knocks at the door,
“it’s been three weeks,
don’t you think it’s time you got out of bed?”
“No, the ceiling fan still feels like his breath,
I think I need just a few more days of rest, please.”
Bruises on her knees from praying to forget.
She’s heard stories of Vietnam vets
who can still feel the tingling of their amputated limbs.
She’s wondering how many women are walking around this world
feeling the tingling of their amputated wings,
remembering what it was to fly, to sing.
Tonight she’s not wondering
what she would tell her daughter
She knows what she would tell her daughter.
She’d ask her, “What gods do you believe in?
I’ll build you temple of mirrors so you can see them.
Pick the brightest star you ever wished on.
I’ll show the light in you
that made that wish come true…”
Tonight she’s not asking what you would tell your daughter.
She’s life deep in the hell, the slaughter,
has already died a thousand deaths with every unsteady breath,
a thousand graves in every pore of her flesh
and she knows the war’s not over,
she knows there’s bleeding to come,
knows she’s far from the only woman or girl
trusting this world no more than the hands
trust rusted barbed wire.
She was whole before that night.
Believed in heaven before that night,
and she’s not the only one.
She knows she won’t be the only one.
She’s not asking what you’re gonna tell your daughter.
She’s asking what you’re going to teach
your son.
Analysis:
Blue Blanket discusses rape. Rape had affected someone she clearly loved and used this poem as a way to describe it. This person was raped and did not know how to deal with it. The loss of control scares her because she knows what can happen when you lose it. Now, this poem shifts to the double standard of society believing rape and assault is the victim's fault. People say "What are you going to tell your daughter?"As if the girl needs to do everything in her power to prevent this from happening, it is not her fault. As Gibson said it's the sad fact that the place we live in does not know the meaning of the word stop.
Because people don't understand that word, this girl experienced hell which caused her to lose her faith, which only allowed for fear. Then when she speaks up and tries to prevent it from happening again they treat her like she is the villain. Put her on trial for a crime she did not commit. People don't believe people when they say that. As if anyone would make that up? They make her feel like it is her fault and shame her while a monster runs free.
This woman will never be the same. These things that have happened to her cause her to wallow in depression. Yet, people still ask what you're going to tell your daughters. When the truth is, it isn't about what you will tell your daughters. Gibson made it very clear on her last stanza the effects and how to handle the situation when she said
"She was whole before that night./Believed in heaven before that night,/and she's not the only one./She knows she won't be the only one./ She's not asking what you're gonna tell your daughter./She's asking what you're gonna teach your son."
This is a very important piece because it sends a message. Things like this are not the victim's fault, it isn't about what you tell your daughter to warn them. It is about teaching your son how to respect women. This poem makes you sympathize with the girl and be enraged at the guy and the system. This poem along with other Gibson poems makes peoplee want to go and make a difference because it is what is right.