Do not define me

Allison Grayhurst


 Do not define me
 as a woman, or a wheel
 of rolling curves, with lipstick
 in my pocket and perfect polish on my shoes. I am
 not interested in shoes.
 I carry this body with two breasts and I have born and raised
 children like a sacred treaty between the unmarked countries
 of time and infinity. I have loved with two arms,
 lived with thoughts of Schopenhauer in my sleep and nurtured
 the orphan pup. Do not define me -
 my sexuality is not confined to the tender receiving sigh,
 not to the congregation of gossip and giggles
 and the making of apple strudel. I do not knit, though I bow to the knitters
 more than I do to the intellectuals, and gossip bores me.
 Talking bores me unless it is about God or the many ways
 we are given to love – children, animals, art.
 (Lover’s love I only speak about in poetry, because that is
 private). Do not define me. I would love to be
 straight lines, proudly hanging, perfectly clear.
 I would like to be brutal. Women
can be brutal, can be like a smile –
 gloriously giving, razor sharp, androgynously
 beautiful.