Jade Wallace Verstehen For Charlotte Perkins Gilman.
The bright yellow sunflowers you brought me spoke clearly enough; they promised to be cheerful on my behalf. I put them in a bucket of water and turned their glad faces to the window. But (and I didn’t notice this then) their petals were also the fluttering sails of a sinking ship, the flags of a lover running out of cups to bail out my tears. The sunflowers didn’t fix anything. But I was grateful. For your attrition, for your taste in flora, for the fact that you never wrote my despair off as a ‘womanly problem’. I mean, for knowing that sadness is as likely to come from my uterus as from my androgynous liver.
CPQ Summer 2012