Sunday, March 8, 2015

On International Women's Day (Poem)

The story goes, that woman came from man,
Formed from his rib, a late-created shame;
Made to help and comfort in his loneliness -
Weakly-willed, disruptor of God's plan
The fatal bite from where all pain began.

The story goes, that women's souls are less,
Aptitudes and capacity differentiated (worse);
Just not as strong or clever as the men -
To speak out loud is always to transgress
While men say no, a woman's part is 'yes'.

The story goes, all women are the same,
Earmarked by breasts and wombs that bleed and birth;
All real women carry these stigmata -
Leaving, liminal, those whose bodies frame
A different shape of meaning to their claim.

The story goes, that women have arrived,
Technically free to work, to speak, to live;
(Well, in the West at least, and that's conjecture) -
Every woman's freedom now contrived
We won, we're told, because, look! we survived!

The story rests, in need of newer words,
A sharp red pen, a critic's careful eye;
Character development beyond the flat -
A thousand million stories, bright as birds
Against the current, silver salmon herds.

- Kathy, 8/3/15

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