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Poetry by Peg Sweeney
Women's History
I
Women, hidden away
for eons of time
Lost or found
in their aprons and wash.
Clinging to images
handed down by
worn and tired mothers
harping on how to be
who to be —
Seeking men to answer
their needs.
Centering their lives
on a man's time clock.
II
Women now, dressed
in finer clothes
labeled with magic names
cling to images of Independence
handed down by mothers
Thinking independence was freedom
Only to look into eyes
of latch-key children
dulled by television's noise.
Women centered now,
from nine to five.
III
The biological clock
ticks on and on.
Relentlessly greying hair,
weakening bones, dulling muscles
Ovaries and wombs unused,
or used too late become
life threatening.
Breasts are smoothed by creams
unsuckled by young mouths.
Whose image to follow?
Whose eyes will reflect our own?
What is quality time?
Wherein lies our center?
I
Women, hidden away
for eons of time
Lost or found
in their aprons and wash.
Clinging to images
handed down by
worn and tired mothers
harping on how to be
who to be —
Seeking men to answer
their needs.
Centering their lives
on a man's time clock.
II
Women now, dressed
in finer clothes
labeled with magic names
cling to images of Independence
handed down by mothers
Thinking independence was freedom
Only to look into eyes
of latch-key children
dulled by television's noise.
Women centered now,
from nine to five.
III
The biological clock
ticks on and on.
Relentlessly greying hair,
weakening bones, dulling muscles
Ovaries and wombs unused,
or used too late become
life threatening.
Breasts are smoothed by creams
unsuckled by young mouths.
Whose image to follow?
Whose eyes will reflect our own?
What is quality time?
Wherein lies our center?
To Matt and Scott
Who are they
the two young men
standing now on the
ceremonial block?
What did they wish to say
to friends assembled
on their behalf?
Out in the world
they are bashed, mocked,
and yet revered for their talents,
artists, dancers, actors,
creativity runs hard and fast
in their blood.
Too many lights have gone out
too many dead.
And yet these two
hold hands and kiss
ready to take a vow
to love each other, always.
Hold fast family, friends,
ride their wild waves
and beat the drums,
They're out, the closet
is flooded with light and love.
Who are they
the two young men
standing now on the
ceremonial block?
What did they wish to say
to friends assembled
on their behalf?
Out in the world
they are bashed, mocked,
and yet revered for their talents,
artists, dancers, actors,
creativity runs hard and fast
in their blood.
Too many lights have gone out
too many dead.
And yet these two
hold hands and kiss
ready to take a vow
to love each other, always.
Hold fast family, friends,
ride their wild waves
and beat the drums,
They're out, the closet
is flooded with light and love.