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+ 1ST POEMS: Whitechapel Woman [Slightly Revised Version]
They tell me pregnancy will change my life,
and I have learned---this morning---just how true
that is. My friend, not even you can guess
the awful horror I have just thrashed through,
or why so much bloodsplatter stains this dress.
She came into my room, swinging that knife.
I guessed, right then, she killed the other four.
(Odd, that I noticed, too, she looked like me:
as stout, same hair, same eyes). She slammed the door
and lunged. Something in me just snapped---a wild
instinct that I must save my unborn child
and myself, too. (A mother's love, you see.)
I kicked, and hit, and scratched, and lastly grabbed
her hand to wrest that blade from her; then stabbed
her with it, venting all my anger on
her body. And I left it, just at dawn,
on my bed, in my garment. That is Jack
the Ripper there, not me. Dare I go back?---
not with this little person in my belly.
The corpse in there?---let them think, "Mary Kelly."
Starward
[*/+/^]
