My Smile Is a Woman’s Work by Cyndie Randall

When this man I love begins to speak
he even surprises himself –
coming right on time,
posturing as if God
slid a pole down the back of his shirt,
sent him to do a good work on me.
I nod because the speaker needs it,
because he’s pink and eager to heal.
But I can’t hear him.
My ears are spider webs, I say.
My brain, a deep cave.
I point to my stigmata, watch him
dig fingers in and root around.
He makes a podium
out of my darkest moments.
Word on the street is I can trust
my own judgement
about the man who speaks
but who does not listen.
If I were a man, I would do nothing
but lean back with a look
of quiet satisfaction.
But I am not a man.
I put my truest words to bed
under the shroud of my tongue.
What a full mouth I have.
It’s no wonder I keep opening,
keep spreading my lips.

From: https://www.frontierpoetry.com/2021/02/05/poetry-cyndie-randall/

Date: 2021

By: Cyndie Randall (19??- )

2 Comments to “My Smile Is a Woman’s Work by Cyndie Randall”

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