by Tazeen Binta Taj
‘Woman’ snorts the word
through his grunty voice venomous with mockery
I adjust my hair, scoop up papers
and juggle with ten wolves in the board room.
‘Woman’ whispers in the southern breeze
draping his arms around the sun-kissed skin
tracing my check through soft hair
I look into his caramel eyes
as smile blazes with hearts desire.
‘Woman’ aloud with wonder
he threads up all the bits and pieces
that laces the days work
and I balance my tot and toad bag
before lunching my tired fingers
to shape the swirling smoke swell from my modest china.
My carefree prime, my responsible midlife, my humble ending
endures all names, labels, point of reference
with criticism of being alive
I tuck the wisp of dismay behind my hear-no-evil ear,
I turn my see-no-evil eyes to end of the tunnel
I smile through say-no-evil lips
I, woman on my own right live
As life is the gift I give