I have soft dreams, the texture of ancient silk.
They take me to fragrant palm isles, billowing
and shimmering sheets of whiteness and bliss.
I awake from them rested and well-put-together
like an actress in a movie-scene awakening in utter felinity
...Others are coarse, delivered in strange packages on my doorstep.
But those will be discussed in their due time...
I've discovered this poem by Sincerity Kincade in the Spencer Library here at KU, written by hand in the margins of a book by a more prominent poet. I haven't authenticated the handwriting yet but the poem is signed by her and has her characteristic lightness of touch and ethereality.
Kincade has often been attacked by sexist critics for her unabashed celebrations of her own womanhood, or sentimentality, and for a certain preciosity. In fact, her poetry is a wily trap designed to expose this very sexism, according to some feminist critics. Others have celebrated it as the heartfelt confessions of a tragically misunderstood soul.