In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:128 Feminist Studies 46, no. 1. © 2020 by Feminist Studies, Inc. Rosetta Marantz Cohen There Were Six of Us at Dinner A Sestina There were six of us at dinner: Partnered for life, three women and three men. We were staid, civilized, three women And three men, all of a certain age. Having weathered the worst and best Of life, we had, in a sense, arrived. It was late. We had all of us arrived At that comfortable place after dinner When…
Read moreIn lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:128 Feminist Studies 46, no. 1. © 2020 by Feminist Studies, Inc. Rosetta Marantz Cohen There Were Six of Us at Dinner A Sestina There were six of us at dinner: Partnered for life, three women and three men. We were staid, civilized, three women And three men, all of a certain age. Having weathered the worst and best Of life, we had, in a sense, arrived. It was late. We had all of us arrived At that comfortable place after dinner When we suspected that this was the best Our lives would ever be. Men Spoke about their teams, their stocks; women About clothes, the indignities of age. One said, “I have finally reached the age When I am invisible to men; arrived At a place where I am, in a sense, post-woman.” There was silence then, among us women at dinner. “... And I’m glad of it,” she said, “to be free of men’s Sexual assessment. In school, I was always the best In my class, straight A’s, but the best Thing about me, I always knew, was my age And my beauty. I knew my professors, all men, Saw only this when I would arrive At their office hours, or over dinner, Later, with male clients—my sexual power as a woman.” Rosetta Marantz Cohen 129 And then the second of us spoke, the second woman: “I called it ‘flattery’ in those days,” she said, “Putting the best Face on what was harassment; dinners That ended in groped kisses from men twice my age.” And then I told them about the teacher who arrived At my door at night, drunk, saying “I’m a man; What do you expect?” How I had felt manipulated but ashamed, and had never told another woman, Even though I knew the same man arrived At other doors asking the same question. Perhaps it was best, We said, that we had kept these secrets. It was another age; We still ended up here after all: well-heeled, happy, among friends at dinner. We studied our husbands as they spoke: good men, Certainly; middle-aged fathers of daughters; and wondered If other women were right now speaking about them at dinner....