I am Woman, See Me.

baby-12.jpg

I am woman.
The heart of the future beats out
a serene rhythm in my womb.
I sustain it with my meat,
feel it stretch my welcoming belly,
anticipating motherhood with joy and
a tinge of trepidation, acknowledging
responsibility and risk.
When the pains of labour retreat,
I staunch my uterine blood, and nurture
the divine new fruit which emerges.
I do not deny my need
of your seed to fertilise the egg,
but it is not your due to despise
or to rule me.

I am woman.
Throughout the ages
I have been reviled, raped, beaten, enslaved,
burnt as a witch for doing my duty,
stoned for a whore while the guilty parties
whisper proud secrets of sowing wild oats,
or claim ensnarement in the wiles and the web
of this victim whose viscous red liquid
shamefully stains the villagers’ dust.
Backslapping and taunting, my victors kick me
and jauntily walk away free.

I am woman.
You rip off my rags and you call me a slut.

I am woman,
created to serve and to lead,
to learn and to teach,
to feast and to feed, or to fast if need be,
as I acquiesce to my destiny,
bequeathing the breath that I have been gifted,
passing it on to my next of kin.

I am woman,
trapped by the base victories
of archaic man’s wish to trample me.
Dark patriarchy seeps through the skin of history
to become tradition
while my strength is trapped, sapped
by my tasks.
Were I self-seeking, you would not
have a chance against me.

I am woman,
measured against the planet
I am invisible as an ant climbing a skyscraper,
yet set against the iniquities of humankind,
I am a giant.

I am woman.
See me, respect me.
Let me be.

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Written for The Daily Post Word Prompt: Archaic

Inspired by this stunning poem, written by Candice at thefeatheredsleep.

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©Jane Paterson Basil

30 thoughts on “I am Woman, See Me.

    1. But you inspired this poem! It’s probably one of the best poems I’ve ever written, and reading it through, I find it hard to believe I wrote it. I know that I couldn’t have done it without you.

      I’m obsessive; if necessary, I’ll spend days polishing a poem, though that’s very rare and it usually means the poem wasn’t worth a lot to start with.

      Like

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