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Home » Poetry » Issue 6 » still she loves

still she loves

she is a woman, so full of love
to conceive even fools as we, men,
who to this day do not fill women with love.
but fall far from the stem of a woman’s heart.
yet, still, she is a woman,
to ferry men to life in her patient womb from lands
where they were before they were born,
and when in days that are supping on dusk,
she is always near to ferry men back to
where they were before they were born.
she still is, a woman,
before the cock crows three times,
she carries a ‘peter’
on her back
and sings lullabies to his cries of sorrow,
when in her heart,
it is sorrow, she knows, which is crucifying her,
when sorrow in pursuit of its own ecstasy again mourns,
“we don’t need a good woman”
and dies drunk entangled in vines of jezebel.
only to see the so thought wisdom and joy robbed of sleep.
yet still,
she is a woman to embrace the full rebel and fool in man.