Old Women

Old Women Old women are forgotten wombs whose graceless bodies have fed the word, then been sent to sit in its shadow not quite seen, not acknowledged, not nurtured They are more patient than God Old women are crucified with nails of oppression and poverty Equality is a Damoclean Sword when age freckles out-number soft, sweet patches of youth Old women have scarred and bloody knees from kneeling in submission to lesser minds who felt bigger from the looking down A rosary of sorrows is strung through the weary fingers of old women They are hung on the crucifix of youth and beauty to wither into dust Alone in cubicles and corners, frayed photos beneath their coats Old women remember children who have long forgotten them They do not seek a man’s arms, for that is not a refuge, but a honeyed trap where souls are flayed beyond recognition Such wondrous minds Living libraries of life Vision and experience left untouched because it is not behind a pretty face Behold the woman She is a wealth of wisdom, power, beauty and courage yet she is left beside the road of living Her reckoning will come Until then...she endures