Strength

Women are so darn strong.

 

 

 

Not just beauty, which can be so rare

that a face can linger for centuries,

or launch a ship

set into motion merely

by the slope of a face

the arch of a brow, or

the silent tumble of an eyelash

onto a cheek.

 

Not only that.

But the ability to create

another human form

by the pure instinct of reproduction,

the ticks and whorls

of genes and cells

as they divide and assemble

month after month,

until a new person is born

with fingers and toes,

an imagination taking shape.

 

All of this, but still more --

the sheer number of the responsibilities

taken, and contributions given;

they swim like fish upstream

where men stand still

at the river's edge, dreaming of

freedom, a warm supper,

and the slip of a silken

strap from a shoulder.

They cast their nets and reel in lines

morning after morning,

as women swaddle their young,

instruct the future,

and dream of love, just love.

Reviews

[sedulous_mind]

Very nice poem with a great subject. Very nicely written.