It is another beautiful fall day. A streak of pink was a banner across the sky this morning saying, "Wake."
I am full with conversation and sharing. Jane wrote this poem this morning about her mother, who grew up very poor, and about an incident at Jane's birth. We talked about sons this morning, about males and male energy, and the different ways we males and females are in the world. Testesterone really does add a kick.
A friend saw her gynecologist yesterday and said her "libido" was gone. The doctor prescribed a testesterone cream to rub on her clitoris. Interesting, I thought.
Today I read that today's mother, after she gives birth, must immediately rush in for a breast lift, tummy tuck, and liposuction. What does that do to the focus on the baby? How can the world be that nuts, and out of touch with the natural world?
For a change of subject, I present Jane's poem.
Who We Were to Her
After a childhood of one dress
and a new rental house every year
thin coffee from a percolator for breakfast
eggs and milk in years when they had acreage for animals
“I thought we were the only poor ones.”
After her first married years
following flags and bombs
across a map of the divided world
counting dead, some familiar, millions strange
“I always knew he would come back.”
The planet had been leveled to the hard pan
her handsome husband home again
the four room house facing town, backed up to unfenced prairie
“I was ready for the dream.”
The two of us, first him then me,
were we ourselves, ten toes, ten fingers each
all there, complete and whole and hers
or were we like spring again after a generation?
“Your grandma made me strawberries and cream when you were born.”
- Jane Flint