Tuesday, August 20, 2013

What Woman Was


I didn’t know what woman was
not having met a man before.
As a child I lingered in the eyes
of man and wife divided
in themselves, looking
lovingly with shattered irises
like colored glass mosaics picked
piece by piece apart and rearranged
by a cruel child’s hand, and beautiful,
as broken bottles on a beach
rubbed smooth and meaningless
are beautiful. I saw woman
with kaleidoscopic eyes,
the pieces of her churning
madly. When I felt her
she was leaking, and no man’s hands
were broad enough to stop the gaps,
no, let alone a child’s. So I
assumed, as any body
sunk in sands of mystery must,
that I should close my eyes
and focus all on keeping them
unscratched. I didn’t know.
Not having met a man before,
I didn’t know.