She wears her *** like silk
Draped around her in translucent veil
Shimmering as she walks
In ivory , elegant form
She can almost hear the heads turn
And feel the men stare
As she glides across the room

I am the deer
Large shimmering eyes and slender limbs
A fawn with spots still on
Like the baby’s breath of the meadow in which I lay
Mocha fur shining in the morning sunlight
Face wet with dew from the chill of night

I am the deer
Mangled on the side of the road
Intestines on display for the vultures above
Legs twisted into a sick jigsaw puzzle
Killed by the man who worries about the machine
And drives away with apathy unwavering

I am the woman
Long, toned legs
Striding down a city sidewalk, wind in her hair
A statue, a monolith, an icon
Like a being carved from polished marble from the raw earth
A face of beauty incarnate

I am the woman
A dismembered body with DNA foreign to herself
Lying in a lake, the soil, a vat of oil
The threads of clothing cut too short like Fate’s own hemline
Killed by the man and his ego who worries if blood washes out
And walks away with apathy unwavering

It is a tragedy as old as time
That Mother Nature birthed daughters

They fear
What it is
That lies
Beyond
The scope
Of their
Understanding
And I wouldn't
Have been
Ready for
The path I
Have chosen
If not for being
Polarized once
Myself

when you are a woman
you bleed the burden of being one
literally within every month
and metaphorically every single day
you polish the plates clean
you cook the cake delectable
you plan the garden to grow plants
you figure out your figures
you beg to be believed
you serve to be esteemed
you scream to be heard
to be seen, to be listened,
to speak, to be free
you consume the rage given
passed and inherited
genetically and immanently
you are born
yet you give birth too
being a woman is a revolution

You are in heaven, when she loves you.
You are in hell, when she scorn.
Her eyes have the power to shrivel your soul down to an insignificant little raisin.
Her smile melts bodies into congealed mush.

Without her say so, I’m merely anonymous,
A vagabond, some *****,
Trotting through the fields, outside of her heart,
Hoping to gain entry past the gates.

The scent of her, intoxicating,
Like laughing gas,
A jovial inebriant,
As tranquillizing as her wholesome chortle.

Who or what am I, by comparison,
Without her eyes, her skin,
The taste of her lips,
A sip of blackberry brandy.

Her legs, more perfect, refined than David,
Between them, the Holy Grail of contentment,
Where life begins, where it can end,
At her say so— her command.

******* crafted by the hands of God,
I marvel at the sight of such beauty,
In such a grotesque world,
That she owns with her movement as graceful as the wind.

She makes me quiver, like salt on a slug,
As her silky, slick locks flip over her shoulders,
Those shoulders, help me,
Forget Greek architecture.

How dangerous it can be,
To tread through the seas of her love,
Anticipating rogue waves,
This schooner musn’t capsize.

Dancing with her, as if the last two on Earth,
I sway her body, closely against to mine,
Her passion radiating against my desire,
Bound to create a combustion greater than the Big Bang.

And that Big Bang, where our everything meets,
Her breaths, short but sweet,
Her gaze pierces through my existence,
As I force confidence daring to look into her eyes,
While I aim to satisfy her every desire.

If I should be so bold, so foolish,
To take her for granted,
May my soul burn in Hell,
For all of everlasting.

I’m nothing without that woman,
Women, thank God for ‘em,
For there is no greater rendition of Nirvana,
Accessible to mankind.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph
from Warning:When I am an Old Woman I shall wear purple (Profile 2021)