In "Stings" (Ariel), she identifies with both the drones and the queen, and reveals the conflict between her domestic and her poetic--her queenly--selves:

I stand in a column

 

Of winged, unmiraculous women,

Honey-drudgers.

I am no drudge

Though for years I have eaten dust

And dried plates with my dense hair.

 

And seen my strangeness evaporate . . .

 

They thought death was worth it, but I 

Have a self to recover, a queen.

But even had she wished it, the real children could not be folded back into her womb. They were there to contend with along with the daily, routine, household chores. Added to this was the frustration of being married to a poet, whose own poetry was getting written while she dusted, diapered, and served as his secretary.

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From Modern Language Studies (1977)