MomsBook_asof9.18.17
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The Daughter, Mary:<br />
I wish that women were allowed to ride<br />
astride a donkey’s back; sitting sideways<br />
makes my stomach heave.<br />
Perhaps I’ll walk partway today,<br />
but all the stones will slow me down<br />
and then the men will grow impatient.<br />
No one ever told me why we cannot<br />
speak to men. I want to ask<br />
for rest and shade – the sun has set<br />
my veil aflame and yet last night<br />
was cold, the ground unyielding.<br />
Is that the house? It has to be her house<br />
What will I say? What excuse will I use<br />
for coming unannounced? I’m so afraid.<br />
There’s a woman coming from the well,<br />
but she’s too old to be the one my mother<br />
talked about and yet . . .
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