[ final edit ]
The day will come. Her hair is turning white.
But, by then, she won’t even have to t.h.i.n.k. a man will want her.
She can finally be the floating head that gilds her firmament,
with only the dim memory of a time when all she yearned for was to be the lover.
All the girls, competing for best husband, dreaming of the babies they would bear,
she never had that fantasy. N.o.t. for a single day.
To her, childbirth was too excruciating
an exchange for living, breathing, and a being
just to prove her special DNA
was worth repeating
And, now, she knew the reason why.
There were far too many neurons in her body.
For each pleasure to which she could always readily respond,
there were truly twice the pain receptors.
Had she, as brief wife, managed to survive hard labor once,
the poor infant enduring all her agony would end up scarred
No. Thank God for God, who knew exactly what He did.
She was meant to do the other thing.
to define just what, but she’d accept the bid. For sure.
Meantime, it’s true; there was no lure.
For every challenge brought to bear against the weakness overshadowed by her strength,
she no longer had the choice to step on up and groove it just to prove it.
Cannot have a baby.
But, she’d bet that she could mother you and all your children almost better than the rest,
Just wait until her hair is white.
you won’t want her then
But, she’ll be right
Because of what you’ll need her for
will need her.
will need her
© Ruth Ann Scanzillo
5/5/15 All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. Thank you.