I. Birth.

They make her as they do every wo-man

A lock of man’s hair

The dust on his fingertips

Man’s teeth, man’s feet, man’s ears

Mother’s kiss

They shape her as they do every wo-man

Clumping the features into a ball

To knead into a soul

This is her essence, they say

Her essence is everything

And she knows it too

Because I am wo-man, I guide

Because I am wo-man, I heal

Because I am wo-man, I love

Because I am wo-man

When man approaches, she doesn’t falter

She knows who she is

Her soul calls out

To whom its features once belonged

Man and wo-man, Earth and moon

A foreign figure draws near

Same eyes and nose and lips

Yet an empty soul

They face each other

Wo-man to woman

II. Eternal feminine.

     “Do you love him?”

“The man loves me.”

     “That isn’t an answer.”

“Why is your soul empty?

     “I was born so.”

“Then how would you know who you are?”

     “I don’t know yet. I will.”

“How do you know what to do?”

     “I do what I desire, isn’t that what we all do?”

“We do our duty.”

     “And how would you know what your duty is?”

“My soul tells me.”

     “Is that not such a constrained life?”

“I know no other life.”

     “Do you love him?”

“My man loves me.”

     “But do you love him?”

III. Woman. 

Wo-man is different now

No longer a rhythm in her gait

Her soul dimmer than a sun in a cloud

She asks me questions

I don’t know the answer to 

Wo-man yells at her man

For the first time and he hits her

The next day her skin peels

As if the sun reached its arms out

To strangle her

One day wo-man approaches me with

Bones for a body and says with a smile

“I don’t love him” 

I catch her body

As she collapses to the ground

No more bones, her body is

One brain and one heart 

They vanish just as the latter stops

No body, no use

Only her soul remains

Black and filled with

No room to grow, her soul

Has never really been alive

I pick it up and smile

Wo-man no longer is