I'm not the clay goddess that you've made.
I'm not the sacred bones that you have buried.
I'm not a tender shoot sprung from your earth.
I'm the woman that you married.
And, if your clay toys crumble,
and feral dogs find your bones,
if drought deprives the tender shoot,
you can still come home.
Fiction in 55 for my G-Man.
22 comments:
Very sweet and to the point!
Woman *is* home. "It's our job, it's what we do"--and as you say so well here, what we are.
A wonderful declaration of love.
Love what you're put into 55 words here. Brevity is not my strong suit, so i do so admire those that say so much in so little. Wonderful sentiment to top it off too:)
Mama Zen and her Open Door Policy!
You are historically philosohical tonight.
Loved your 55.
Thanks for the late entry, it was worth the wait.
Have a Kick Ass Week-End!
Beautiful and loving.
Terrific as always, MZ! And definitely worth the wait! I'm with G-Man, have a kick ass weekend!
Sylvia
I am enjoying your poetry blog. B
Home and coming home has become a theme this summer! thanks for the lovely post!
Very direct, you sure know what you want
I like it.
Great words. And more truth than 55 can hold.
That is woman - there to pick up the pieces
gr8 55 MZ
Fabulous 55. I love the way that you tell it like it is~!
Always good to know.
Honest, touching and tender.
wow
Awesome!
Powerful n tender at the same time..
hugs xo
Hardest lesson of all is separating the Goddess from the woman (and vice versa). Men routinely leave home thinking they are the same. And come home eventually, smoking hat in hand. Amen. -Brendan
Beautiful and very touching words.
Natural woman quality.
Another powerful poem, hope you are putting your work in a book!
i read this last week and was speechless. i'm still at a loss for words, so i'll just say ~
brilliant, MZ!
d ♥
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