a woman
of God

I try
to be

but sin
is in
the air

as much
as salt
ia in
sea

my lust
licks
the heart
of my
lips

there are
body parts
I am blind
of

the shame
of being
thirty five
and never
know the
touch of
a man

drawing
a map
of the
world
on my back
with his finger
in my sweat

the arch
of it
when his hand
casually marks
Africa

A woman of God,
I am not

But a woman,

a tender lover
my head folding
into his neck
as if the angles
had been calculated
exactly, beforehand

I am earless
in the face
of the battlefield
that every woman
crosses, every day

I am clever
a devourer of booka,
article, savagely attacking
tainted tabloid trash

I am a Godless woman,
but a thousand times more
a woman than God could make me