My Poetry Year: Entry #51

In which Your Humble Blogger shares one for many of the women who do the Chicago morning commute:

"The Women Who Love"

Here, boarding the train, are women
Who take steps with legs that support
As much hard work as any bridge.
Their shoulders bear the arches of
Heavy handbags, and their makeup
Isn't finished yet. Their spouses
Burn time in blue factories or
March in line at their offices.
Their children are at school today;
Some are even beating their wings.
But on the train are the women
Who love them all and who, sometimes,
Remember to be proud themselves.

* * *

I wrote a note to myself beneath this poem in my notebook: "Okay -- written when very sleepy!" Heh, guess I knew I'd want to be able to compare the pieces I write when I'm less functional to those I write when, well, a little more so. (That's the best I can hope for, it seems: more functional over less.)

While we're celebratin' wimmin': Another book I picked up from the library last week is The Language of the Night, a collection of essays and speeches by Ursula K. Le Guin. The quote featured on the inner flap of the dust jacket reads, "We like to think we live in daylight, but half the world is always dark, and fantasy, like poetry, speaks the language of the night...." (emphasis added).

Did you get the mental image of me jumping up and down, waggling my finger, and yelping, "A-ha! Yes!" There must be so many people out there who could be drawn to both! And she was writing about this a few years before I was born! Ah, reading that made my day.