Women’s Work, of Art

Women’s Work, of Art

(On abortion)

Of course, my womanhood

Comes as the moon

Empty skies bow, should I

Decline to bloom

Here I sit atop the roof

Of my waiting room

Expecting a kick

From inside thy womb

Alas, she has failed,

Now life’s prude

If only my womanhood had prevailed

I’d be full from each coming moon.

Now a Bard, waning with the sky

Asks Earth the reason for her Mother’s doom

In cosmic sighs she replies,

“Poet, you were born as empty as my moon,

Alone. Do not despair,

Do not croon;

Life will ebb, and yours will bare

From lullabies to a blank’d moon.”