Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet

(Photo by Shirley Alexander)

Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet

I'm not the woman people envy
in her confident got-it-all-together stride.
I'm not the person who is called to offer prayer
in a gathering of Christians.
I don't sing like an angel, or paint beauty
into hungry and inspired artists' minds.
I'm not that woman. I'm not destined for dizzy fame
or breathless stolen kisses.

I am the woman who smiles at grasshoppers,
and lifts her nose to smell rain.
I am the woman with hay in her hair
in the middle of a muddy cow pasture.
I am the woman who loses her giggles
in the quiet corners of inappropriate places.
I am the one who wants to chance wearing
purple with green, but chooses black.

I am the mother who knows a special child
is always on stage, and should dress accordingly.
I am the daughter and sister who visits a lonely hill
at midnight to confess my pain to headstones.
I am the jealous lover of time and
all the things I missed before heaven thrust me
wet, screaming, and angry into
the unprepared arms of my religious mother.

I'm not someone you would remember
seeing on a sidewalk in Paris.
I am the woman who drops her papers
in the crowded hallways of life.
I leave tattered bits of myself to be sorted
by future generations who will read and wonder;
"Who was she to find herself worthy
of a legacy of words and love?"

s.a.a.