Duality
Perhaps I hold people to impossible ideals,
I tell them, something is wrong with your
personality, (you’re a drinker, you’re
too dependent, or I think you have
a mother/son fixation). This is usually
followed by passionate lovemaking,
one good long and very well meaning
embrace, and then I’m out the door.
In daylight, I’ll tip my sunglasses forward,
buy a cup of tea and think of the good
I’ve done for the world, how satisfying
it feels to give a man something to contemplate.
The heart is a whittled twig. No, that is not
the right image, so I drop the heart in a pile
of wood and light that massive text on fire.
I walk the streets of Brooklyn looking
at this storefront and that, buy a pair of shoes
I can’t afford, pumps from London, pointed
at the tip and heartbreakingly high, hear
my new heels clicking, crushing the legs
of my shadow. The woman who wears
these shoes will be a warrior, will not think
about how wrong she is, how her calculations
look like the face of a clock with hands
ticking with each terrorizing minute.
She will for an instant feel so much
for the man, she left him lying in his bed
softly weeping. He whispers something
to himself like bitch, witch, cold hearted
_______, but he’ll think back to the day
at the promenade when there was no one there
but the two of them, the entire city falling away
into a thin film of yellow and then black,
and how she squeezed his hand, kissed him
on his wrist which bore a beautifully healed
scar, he will love her between instances
of cursing her name. She will have long
fallen asleep in her own bed, a thin nude
with shoes like stilts, shoes squeezing
the blood out of her feet, and in her sleep
she rises above the disappearing city, her head
touching a remote heaven, though below her,
closer to the ground, she feels an ache at the bottom.
—Tina Chang
I’ve been reading Tina Chang’s two collections, Half-Lit Houses and Of Gods and Strangers, but I first stumbled across her several months ago through the website of The Academy of American Poets. I have not been able to forget this poem since I first read it, so even though I am really enjoying her actual collections of poems, I am really aching to write about “Duality.”
The most interesting thing about this poem is the way it captures the cost of independence; thus, the title “Duality.” The woman in this poem fancies herself to be above some of the men she leaves aching in their beds, which makes her seem confident and self-assured, qualities that are often associated with men. In fact, her actions are often associated with men. Women aren’t the “love ‘em and leave ‘em” types, unless, of course, there’s something wrong with them.
The woman in the poem is unable to commit, for whatever reason, to one person. She tells herself and the men that there’s something wrong with them. She rewards herself for her honesty. Someone has to tell the truth, right? The truth will set us free, but freedom has a price: in the end, she is alone. So the real question is: how honest should we be? How vulnerable should we let ourselves be?
The poem changes from first person and third person, which is really interesting to me. I think one reason for this change is to create more distance. In the beginning of the poem, the speaker is there with the lover. She’s honest, they make love, and she leaves to go shop for shoes. She’s proud of herself. But as the literal distance between her and the lover grows, so does the emotional distance. Actually, I almost wonder if the emotional distance narrows as the poem continues. I say that because she’s detached in the beginning. Physically, she’s there, but emotionally, she’s not. She’s moved on, or so she thinks.
As the poem moves forward, she practices a little retail therapy and purchases these beautiful, stylish shoes. She’s a modern woman; she needs modern shoes. Those shoes aren’t as great as they seem, and neither is the sacrifice of love. The shoes hurt her feet. She questions the purchase, and she begins to question her actions towards the lover. The speaker says, “She will for an instant feel so much / for the man she left him lying in his bed / softly weeping.” The poem continues on to imply the man both resents and loves her at once. He calls her names, but at the same time pictures when they were together and happy. While he’s thinking of her, she’s already asleep. This leads us to believe she doesn’t need him; she’s moved on. But she hasn’t. She’s asleep with:
shoes squeezing
the blood out of her feet, and in her sleep
she rises above the disappearing city, her head
touching a remote heaven, though below her,
closer to the ground, she feels an ache at the bottom.
The ache from the shoes represents the ache she feels because of what she’s given up. She either feels guilty for what she said to her lover or she is lonely. It might be both. One could argue she doesn’t feel bad at all, but there’s something weighing her down. Honestly, though, isn’t there something that weighs all of us down? I also wonder if men in a similar situation ever feel this way.
-S
