Who would she have been
Rooted in the old home soil
Victim or victor
How life has changed her
Honed and toughened, awakened
She’s nobody’s pawn
There are those who prey
Others seek in vain to shame
Who would she have been?
Tag: women
The Invisible Woman
She waved her arms, jumped up and down, but not a single person noticed, even though there were plenty near.
Her bold orange blouse and flamboyant floral jodhpurs, a sight to behold for those who might’ve seen, had
They bothered. A certain age had rendered her transparent, of no apparent interest to the world at large. Their loss,
She thought, launching into a power ballad that threatened to shatter windows. Except no one was listening.
Gathering
Gather up your skirts young ladies
Then gather near the hearth,
Step in neatly, close the distance
Take your stand and do your part.
Bring your woolen projects with you,
knitted sweaters and worsted socks
Sidle up to fire’s hot embers
Careful of your flowing locks.
Take a sip of ruby brandy
deep and rich as baron’s blood
Maintain a rhythm slow and steady
Heady as a fragrant bud.
Knit one quickly and then pearl two
Change the pattern with a twist,
Catch a wayward thread untethered
Gathering wool with a fervent wish.
The Chrysanthemums
John Steinbeck’s short story, The Chrysanthemums, is one of my favorites and the inspiration for this poem. I’ve linked to the story below, and if you’ve never read it, I hope my poem encourages you to do so. I really hope it doesn’t discourage you! That would be awful!
Eliza’s Fate
She looked forward
to the small pleasures
after all:
ladybugs and
budding flowers,
the songs of
passing birds,
the smell of lilacs
in the spring.
What else was
meant for her
she’d never know,
but perhaps
this was it.
Most days she
thought nothing
of the lacks
in her life.
Most days she just
went through the motions.
Most days she felt
it was enough.
But.
Other days she
privately railed
against the sameness.
Other days she cried
silently in the kitchen.
Other days she felt the
absence of color.
When he rode through,
that stranger, speaking
in a familiar way,
her need clawed raw and
subversive. Embolding.
What if today? Maybe he?
She dared the unthinkable
opened herself to him.
Like chrysanthemums,
of little consequence.
http://thereycenter.org/uploads/3/4/3/2/3432754/the_chysanthemums-steinbeck.pdf
Single Mom, 3 Kids, Lost Job
I saw you standing on the curb
My car was fifth in line
Then fourth, then third,
And then I read your sign.
“Single mom, 3 kids, lost job”
My hand reached for my purse
Even as my head was saying “No.”
After all, it’s easy to write words on a
Piece of cardboard:
“Out of work,”
“Just lost my house,”
“Anything will help.”
Why did my heart win out over my
Head this time? Maybe because
I saw me in you.
I saw my mother,
My daughter.
I saw every woman who has
Struggled, for whom
Life has never been
A crystal stair.
Every woman who has been
Close to having her own
Cardboard sign.
You cried when I rolled
My window down. I cried
All the way home.
I borrowed a bit from one of my favorite poems by Langston Hughes. I thought I should include it here:
Praying for Eyebrowz 