Eve, Pandora,
the sisters of Islam
and I.
We are the ones.
Lock us up, hide us away,
tear us down.
Unable to control yourselves,
you will control us.
Imprison us in silicone, spandex, silence.
Hide our books, send our brothers to school,
educate us to be docile,
disappointed, and dangerous.
Burn us, stone us, drown us–you must,
because you fear us. You see the lioness pacing in her cage,
waiting for her chance, so you lock the door tighter.
Although we do not make the rules,
we are to blame.
Because we do not make the rules,
we are to blame.

A Woman of Uncertain Age

Childless, I am pregnant after all, with
my own possibility,
creating myself in my own likeness,
fine-tuning and refashioning this line,
that corner of my mind, softening an attitude,
strengthening my heart, my commitment
to live this life as an active participant.
I was a guilty bystander before,
a spectator, separate, as life happened to me.
I intend to happen, to be the agent of
my own spectacular story.