RIP ROARING WOMEN
Some of us
are just born quirky
Run from kitchens
Hide
From the housewifely tasks
Read hardy boy books
Sitting in an apple tree
Some of us collect bruises
instead of dolls
Some of us
Want to fly
Want to climb away the fear
Of never fitting in
yearning for new books instead of gowns
Here’s to you Malala
Who wants to fly
into the world of books
Pakistani child, 14 years old
Taliban hit, yet still survives
defied bullets
May you live on to climb with us
We are still climbing
Reading
Jumping
Flying
Struggling but climbing into
Joyful lives of contentment
From the wrought iron gables
the oblong hummingbird feeder dangles
shiny plastic, strawberry lip-gloss red.
It sways above my grandmother’s head
as she watches their vibrating wings.
She rests at the kitchen sink,
puts down her dishtowel, and smiles.
I want to ask if she is tired of housewifely trials,
but the cat leaps to the window, hissing,
waking my grandmother from her reminiscing.
She goes back to the dirty dishes, alone;
silence is the new partner in her half-empty home.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.