Darling
We aren't done yet

Through pain and prayer I emerge 

**** breath for the first time 

and though I see not you, but a blur

I know you from the inside

hand held, I am walked with care 

over linoleum and playground 

and altar, to grow into myself, 

cheek wiped. And then you let go

as all mothers must. But never leaving, 

even when, ungrateful, my brittle ego 

takes me far from you, pretending I can 

find a space more sacred on my own

You gave me that dream.

And everything else—for you gave me life.

And although I must, trying to improve
on that is futile.

A son of Adam born anew,
Arrives into a joyous hopeful stage,
Everything set in colors of blue,
Two becomes three on a brand new page,

A son of Adam as he grows,
Has certain traditions to uphold,
None of which he yet knows,
But soon everything will unfold,

A son of Adam as he gets older,
Must bring his molders glory and gold,
To be the brave unrelenting soldier,
To be a savior and above all bold,

Now when a daughter of Eve is born,
The molders have such different hopes,
The loss of a possible son they mourn,
Then soon they begin pulling her ropes,

A daughter of Eve for generations past,
Is a puppet to her family's whims and woes,
Not a rival to the son, she is an outcast,
Never allowed to be bold or oppose,

A daughter of Eve must become a mill,
And produce until she has procured a son,
That is her destiny to fulfill,
Otherwise, society will quietly shun,

A daughter of Eve can perhaps teach,
A son of Adam she has produced,
How not to become traditions leech,
And break the circle of abuse.