I have been trying to clean my books out of my parents house and the last box was full of old journals, starting from when I was maybe in the 2nd grade (lots of great reading there, let me tell you) Anyway, today I stumbled upon some rough poems from 2005. I had been living in a house with three wonderful men for several months at that point, and while they are all wonderful, it was still lonely being the only woman and my feminist self needed to do a lot of talking that year - so here are some of the results...It's not a shell
It's not a shell I am coming out of
I am not a snail or a clam
Nor am I merely blossoming
I am more than pretty petals
And don't say that I am finding myself
I have been here all along
Don't say I am overreacting
Just because the smile has left my face
Let's just say the clouds are clearing
And the light that shines is revealing new truth
You may not want me to see or even know that truth
You may wish I would just forget about it
Or maybe you don't understand it
Your clouds have not yet cleared
You may even choose to keep them there
But don't you dare think that I will ever let my truth be obscured again
That I can ever go back to the "pre-knowing" days.
Pickle Jars
(Also titled "Bag 1" since it was written while I was pulling weeds from our landscaping while all the boys were inside and this one only got me through the first bag of weeds I pulled)
Women have been opening pickle jars for years
With the wisdom and strength of our hands
We have loosened the lid just enough
Ironing shirts, cooking dinners, lugging laundry, scrubbing floors, raising children...
and smiling when our men come home
We hand the pickle jar over with an apologetic needful look
building their strength as we deny our own
They smile and understanding
and with little apparent effort
finish opening the jar
They bring home the paycheck - get the promotion
We take the open pickle jar
with much gratitude and appreciation
and return to the kitchen
leaving our man in the recliner, in front of the tv.
