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