Are all the mystical poets are old bearded men
with pointed turbans who lived centuries ago?
Do women have mystical wisdom?
we who bear children
experience the mystery of pregnancy
we who lend our bodies to the growth of another
we who labour to bring the child from the inner to the outer
we who suckle our babes
feel our breasts hard with milk
feel it drip bounteously from our nipples
we who see the mystical in the mundane
laundry dirty dishes perfect salads
snotty noses sick children
well made beds clean kitchen sinks
we are no strangers to the unknown and the agony
since the beginning of time
we have created groaned nurtured
our babies into being
we have screamed at the wailing wall
as our children have been wantonly killed by bombs bullets cars
our handiwork is the work of God
yet destroyed as thoughtlessly as the work of the devil
women’s work is love
not the romantic kind
that ends happily ever after
but ongoing tough love
that expands through pain tears and forgiveness
love that causes our tender hearts to ache for the pain of another
love that breathes us into acceptance
love that keeps on loving after tragedy
wild courageous feminine love
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1 comment:
Thanku
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