by Maria Kintner
I am meant to be uncomfortable.
To be awkward when you speak of me;
to be bitter, and dry to swallow.
In the code of my ancestors,
where the women feel the winds change;
We are meant to be painful.
We are meant to bruise.
Our heels harden with life.
Our hands swell and crook,
weakening our grip on spoons; on hearts.
To nurture is to leave our fingerprints;
our footprints in worn trails.
There are never any apologies
for not being famous
or not blazing away weekenders;
adding our tales of dabauchery and woe.
Awkward and off-center.
And proud to carry our names.
Author's Note: Someone said "I don't like your new last name. It's awkward to say." Naturally, I disagree. ;)
Posted on 08/22/2007
Copyright © 2023 Maria Kintner
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Rhiannon Jones on 08/22/07 at 11:59 AM|
I find this thought-provoking. Several lines I really like, including especially "Our hands swell and crook, weakening our grip on spoons; on hearts."
|Posted by Genevieve Sturrock on 08/22/07 at 12:55 PM|
i have always loved the fact that a woman i leave my family to become part of my husband's...it's a proud sacrifice and one that should be appreciated by men...but so often is taken for granted. nicely written and thanks for the author's note!
|Posted by Rob Littler on 08/31/13 at 02:19 PM|
slanted and loving it, born to be what you are from what you were, what it was that was, when looking at it sideways, what it is as always, being, fearless, defender of what is known, truth
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/31/13 at 02:40 PM|