She, bright as a fragile smile.
Do not mistake the moist
brilliance of her eye
as irritation, smoke cured
in a beehive mudhouse.
You count her days in millet cakes,
wind tossed lentils. Media sort
her worldly worth in hollow husks,
discarded dreams, fist of rice.
Her bread, unleavened. Self; raised
in a donkey driven heritage,
two legs good,
four legs better.
Then, look again, note her future
bid her onward, see her colours,
blue green, self glazed footprints
on spine-cracked stepping tomes.
Share her splash dance in words,
irrigation of her mind.
True to her womb,
Woman, rising.
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minor edit 08.03.10
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http://www.nytimes.com/2005/06/29/books/29wome.html?_r=1
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNol39IKNNs
Comments
littleditty | June 28, 2009 - 08:28
Loved the poem and the article. Thanks for the read -( 'Jane Austin Smiles'...one of mine edited a bit recently, reminds me, it's not here!) Cheers Lena x
lenchenelf | June 28, 2009 - 13:51
Thank you LittleD, I've just googled 'Jane Austin Smiles', now read and enjoyed, smashing :-) :-) atb Lena
littleditty | June 29, 2009 - 12:04
and ive changed the spelling at last! thanks :o)
lenchenelf | June 29, 2009 - 13:28
:-O)) atb Lenax