Page 9 - Chimera by Hannah Sheridan

Womanity
Woman
I see you when your fingers
Cut pink crescents in your palms
moon worshipper
They say your religion is not one they accept But this God is all you know
Call your hands beautiful Chapped from dishwater
Paint chips, so you go over it again Next to stacks of folded laundry, Chewing tongue in concentration
Woman called girl
Don’t let words reduce
You to consumable bites
Give them indigestion
You are not paper
You are blood
Ragged flesh between your teeth Wounds applied by work, not ink Someone else spilled
Woman
I hear you when you sing at night
In the fire escape
Cigarette in fingers
They say you are not ladylike
But their definitions cannot cut you
They were not made for bones and veins and sweat
They were not made for Woman
Flick ash, you shift in shadows
watch late night taxis and glowing miniatures act silent movies in distant windows
stars invisible, make do
the freckles on your hands
trace your own
constellations