'She simply arrives
one day unannounced
and makes herself at home, laughs
at my life, asks impertinent questions:
(do you always lie to yourself like this?)
A young man at the bar tells me
violence is a feminist construct. Next
to him Cassandra laughs, looks at him
with longing: he is so young.
Attempts to lock her out meet her quiet
resistance, and she tells me to go
ahead and try, she has lived through
worse. Crosses her legs, waits to see
what happens. She is a poor guest, leaves
wet towels on the floor, drinks
all the soy milk - she is intolerant.
I'm telling you this so you can be prepared.
When she knocks on your door at 3 a.m.,
asks in her clear small voice if you can talk,
I'm just saying you might
want to think about it
before you open the door.'
Rhonda Douglas (2008), Some days I think I know things: the Cassandra poems.
Winnipeg/Manitoba: Signature Editions, p.9