My EarthMom used to stand easy
at our kitchen sink,
looking out across our fertile backyard
Rising from humbly short
but brilliantly red/green
inside white but spicy,
not the least bit sweet privileged
and vanilla nonperformance,
To the back soldier rows
of sweet yellow corn,
and stalky tall
militaristic Northern erections
toward seductive southern sunlight,
While my WaterBearer
leisurely savors cold well water
drinking away thirst
from her misty blue metal cup.
One summer hot afternoon event,
yet this solitary womanist time
until deeply worn into sacred meaning,
without turning toward me,
or any other optional consumer audience,
She reconsiders the Messiah's most mysterious miracle,
to her open,
but first and last questing mind
was turning well water
"I've tasted patriarchal wine.
I don't believe it's an improvement."
While I didn't say it,
I admit thinking it hungrily unfit,
I'm not so sure about those cheap capitalist wafers either.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2021