Do not define me
.
Do not define me
as a woman, or a wheel
of rolling curves, with lipstick
in my pocket and perfect polish on my shoes.
I am not interested in shoes.
I carry this body with two breasts
and I have born and raised children
like a sacred treaty between the unmarked countries
of time and infinity. I have loved with two arms,
lived with thoughts of Schopenhauer in my sleep
and nurtured the orphan pup. Do not define me –
my sexuality is not confined to the tender receiving sigh,
not to the congregation of gossip and giggles
and the making of apple strudel. I do not knit,
though I bow to the knitters
more than I do to the intellectuals, and gossip bores me.
Talking bores me unless it is about God or the many ways
we are given to love – children, animals, art.
(Lover’s love I only speak about in poetry, because that is
private). Do not define me. I would love to be
straight lines, proudly hanging, perfectly clear.
I would like to be brutal. Women can be brutal,
can be like a smile –
gloriously giving, razor sharp, androgynously
beautiful.
.
Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “Elephant Journal” September 2015
Amazing work. So glad I discovered your page.
Love this
magnificent
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.