Karolina Manko

Yoko Ono As Performance Art 
 
She sits on her knees for us, 
in a big room where everyone 
in the audience has a pair of scissors, 
and permits us to snip away her 
clothes. 
 
One-by-one we strip 
her layer-by-layer. 
Anticipating her to turn 
suddenly afraid. 
Eventually to plead. We want
 that 
of her. 
 
Our sick American aesthetics 
tell us that she is the death
 of rock and roll, 
of the blue eyed man
 in the round glasses. 
She did not
 take his bullet after all. We remember. 
 
Now she is a shadow-wife. 
Mother
 to an all American boy, 
practically
 a Kennedy but less politicized. 
 
 
We want to strip her down to her yellow-
 
to the one truly discernable difference. 
We want to show her she is not at home.
 
 
And she will let us. 
Perfectly passive.
 
It drives us mad. 
In a big room
 
each takes his piece of her. 
 
But she never disappears.
 
No matter how deeply we cut. 
And she never cries, either. 


Karolina Manko is the patron saint of naps. She enjoys obsessively watching The Food Network and perusing used-book bins. She is the founding editor of Ghost House Review, a digital poetry magazine. You can follow her on twitter: k_manks