Margaret Fuller Slack

 I would have been as great as George Eliot
But for an untoward fate.

For look at the photograph of me made by Penniwit,
Chin resting on hand, and deep-set eyes --
Gray, too, and far-searching.

But there was the old, old problem:
Should it be celibacy, matrimony or unchastity?
Then John Slack, the rich druggist, wooed me,
Luring me with the promise of leisure for my novel,
And I married him, giving birth to eight children,
And had no time to write.

It was all over with me, anyway,
When I ran the needle in my hand
While washing the baby's things,
And died from lock-jaw, an ironical death.

Hear me, ambitious souls,
Sex is the curse of life.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...