Among the scores of rushing students,
The only moving thing
Was the mind of the Woman in Chains.
Men made of three parts,
Like a handcuff
Whose cold iron clutches the Woman in Chains.
The Woman in Chains smiled at the cruel jokes at her expense
It was only a trivial amount of the total pantomime.
A woman and man
The woman is not the Woman in Chains.
I cannot say which is greater,
The beauty of the Woman in Chains
Or Helen of Troy,
Both fighting not to be
The women in chains.
She is walking
Those chains loosening and tightening
On the Woman in Chains.
Did you run off with Paris
To the Walls of Ilium
Because of his golden chains
Or because you so desired
Were you the Woman in Chains?
I hear them clank
I hear them clink
It’s the heart of the Woman in Chains
But not her spirit
That I know.
When the Woman in Chains gains her wings
She marks the edge
Of the circle of her cuffs.
The chains are on the ground,
The Woman in Chains must be soaring.
She is no longer the Woman in Chains.
Based on “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” by Wallace Stevens