by Court Ludwick

CW: Bodily objectification and violence in a performance art setting.

I ask if you ever heard about that artist
who gave strangers a table filled with
love and violence, who without a cry or
twitch of muscle let men cut her hair
and skin for six hours, who let women weep
at the thought of a gun placed in her hand, who
made women cry only because they saw a victim
of violence bearing some slight resemblance
to their own dark hair and deep-set eyes and now
they fear the men they toss a leg over when it’s cold
at night. I ask if you ever heard about the woman
who gave strangers a table filled with warmth
and a flower that was wilting but lovely still,
who gave strangers a gun and let them curl
her own finger around the trigger, who trembled
not at the click that was coming but who flinched at the thought
of an untouched daisy.

You think, not long, say no.

Note: This poem references Serbian artist Marina Abramović’s Rhythm 0, a six-hour work of performance art which overtly dealt with themes related to consent, objectification of the body, and violence directed toward women.

Court Ludwick is a writer, artist, teacher, and PhD student at USD. She is the author of THESE STRANGE BODIES, a hybrid collection of essays, poems, and experimental works, forthcoming from ELJ Editions in 2024. She is an associate poetry editor at South Dakota Review, as well as the founder and editor-in-chief of Broken Antler Magazine. Her words have appeared or are forthcoming in West Trade Review, Full House Literary, New Note Poetry, Necessary Fiction, Jet Fuel Review, Oxford Magazine, Watershed Review, Sweet Tooth, and elsewhere. More of Court’s writing and art can be found on Instagram and Twitter @courtludwick, and on courtlud.com.