Vestige of a Woman

by the poet mom

The young woman who loved fearlessly, thought deeply and met life courageously

She now has a family and a virtuous career in homemaking.

She knows she is not the sum of dishes, laundry, chores and mothering.

She is buried but not yet dead.

She implores with every pot and pan washed, every shirt crisply ironed, each runny nose swiped. . .

See ME!  Know ME!  Respect ME!  Love ME!

Let ME free!

But her pleas are transient and evaporate quickly.

She is trapped by choice, restrained by propriety,

Buried by necessity with the loose change beneath the cushions.

But not yet dead.

This poem was written in one of those “moments” we all have.  (At least I hope we all have them.  Please tell me I’m not the only one!)  However, when I shared it with a friend, she reminded me in her very eloquent way that there are always two sides to the coin.  I don’t feel this poem is complete without her addition.

Even when you are in cammoflage,

in your cloak of cook, cleaner, tutor, supporter, enabler

Your powerful essence shines through.


Creator of life, creator of words that move,

Compassionate, smart, competitive

I am so glad to call you my friend.