I Am Not the One She Wanted
I am not pretty and silent,
I can not sit and wait with crossed
ankles and folded hands
for God to redeem the world.
I do not pray at night
for a man to marry, a provider,
children to raise up in the ways
they should go, the ways she raised me.
Sometimes, mother, they do depart.
I am thin and poor and alone.
I worked all day, then ran four miles.
I am self-sufficient, and I don’t believe
in that white-haired, white-light
Patriarch with his condemnations
I am not the one you wanted either;
I will not dictate my will like the goddess
you would make me. For every gift
you think I have, I lack the skill
or the courage to use it.
I have grown too large for one role,
remain too small for the other.