_An Anarchist’s Question_ On the day of the Preparedness Parade in San Francisco some one threw a bomb and killed eight people, who undoubtedly didn’t deserve to die. Since then the city has gone around on tip-toe, as an anarchist I know expressed it. Five people who undoubtedly don’t deserve it have been thrown into jail and tortured. Puzzle: if the object of preparedness parades is achieved, everybody will be killed off anyway; why is one kind of murder so much worse than another? Julia to Jim (_After reading Edgar Lee Masters’ “Jim and Arabel’s Sister”_) SUE GOLDEN You see, it’s this way, Jim ... You can call me a primrose, if you like, Or the Lover, for that’s a way you have, or men have, Of tying things in bundles, That don’t belong in bundles; For every woman, or man too, I guess, Is a separate complex package With a little bit of everything Out of all the other bundles. You find in us exactly what you look for, As Francis did in Arabella; It wouldn’t have made the least difference What you or I told him, Or what he found out— But about me, Jim? You’ve sat here drinking my coffee, And I’ve made you comfortable and happy, And you’ve told me all about myself, And you haven’t even asked me what I thought about myself. It didn’t occur to you. Do you think Francis Has ever gone deeper Than the curve of Arabel’s cheek, Or what he thought her, or wanted her to be? You call me the Lover. And try to figure out Why I am not like other women; But I am, Jim— Just an ordinary primrose, For that primrose that changed Started out like all the others; And you wonder why I don’t live like the others, Get married—I was once, have children—my son’s grown— So I’ve been all three, sweetheart and mother and wife, And I am still. Every woman is all three, But not all at the same time; That’s why it is such a bore Being expected to be.