Jennifer Franklin is a poet, professor, and editor whose lastest book is If Some God Shakes Your House (Four Way Books, 2023). Her work has been commissioned by the Metropolitan Museum of Art and her awards include a Pushcart Prize, a NYFA/City Artist Corp grant, and residencies from the T.S. Eliot Foundation and Café Royal Cultural Foundation. Her publications include The Paris Review, The Nation, poets.org, and “Poetry in Motion” from Poetry Society of America. She leads manuscript revision workshops and teaches in Manhattanville’s MFA Program. I’m ceded – I’ve stopped being Theirs – The name They dropped upon my face With water, in the country church Is finished using, now, And They can put it with my Dolls, My childhood, and the string of spools, I’ve finished threading – too – Baptized, before, without the choice, But this time, consciously, Of Grace – Unto supremest name – Called to my Full – The Crescent dropped – Existence’s whole Arc, filled up, With one – small Diadem. My second Rank – too small the first – Crowned – Crowing – on my Father’s breast – A half unconscious Queen – But this time – Adequate – Erect, With Will to choose, or to reject, And I choose, just a Crown – As AntigoneJennifer Franklin I’m all done being nice. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere. Since I was young, I gave everything away—milk money, homework, adoration. Everyone wanted to make me into a small version of herself— teaching me weaving, writing, wiles. All I wanted was love— picked a bouquet of dandelions and handed it to my mother. When she turned her mouth into a little o and called the tight yellow suns weeds, my body became a weight I wanted to let go. I thought of all the lessons I memorized to keep me still, the colors I couldn’t wear because they clashed with my red hair, all the rules of modesty so men would not look at me with hunger. The only thing I owned was a jar I was given, like Pandora, as a girl. Before I unlatched the lid, I had already lost everything—faith, health, my child. I refused to watch what flew out. But something hard as lapis, real as want, wrenched my wrist right back so hope remained, writhing alone at the bottom of the jar like dirty water after dead tulips are discarded— yellow stamens dropping pollen to the floor. Silent, it watched me for years. Months at a time, I forgot it was there. But when it’s trapped like that, it grows so large, nothing can quell it. No one thanks me for what I have done. But I don’t need praise anymore. I turned weeds into flowers. Concepts mentioned: Keat’s Negative Capability The persona poem Epistolary poems Other Dickinson poems mentioned: “The Soul selects her own Society –” The Master Letters “After great pain, a formal feeling comes –” “’Hope’ is the thing with feathers” “They shut me up in Prose –” Characters mentioned: Antigone Pandora Persephone People mentioned in the interview: Alice Quinn (Columbia U) Richard Howard (Columbia U) Arnold Weinstein (Brown U) Ovid Du Fu The Romantics Lucie Brock-Broido Jane Hirshfield Louise Glück (T.S.) Eliot (William) Blake Michael Harper Rita Dove and her book, Mother Love Lucille Clifton Laurie Sheck – The Book of Persephone James Joyce Proust Viriginia Woolf William Faulkner Lucia Joyce Sylvia Plath Books mentioned: Anne of Green Gables Jane Eyre Wuthering Heights Recorded October 2025. Join the Ask the Poet Substack (kathrynpetruccelli.substack.com) for complete show notes with images and regular notices of new episodes. melodyorwitchcraft.com This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit kathrynpetruccelli.substack.com/subscribe
