amazing grace, it is, to be literate
so a housewife asks: why write?
dare to forego my daily chores
to record this river pouring out of me?
do I have the right?
(yes! the walls shout above
the din and roar of children
put it down! risk exposure!
risk personal fame! risk failure!
and the lamps nod in agreement)
all the while, a waterfall
threatening to flood my domain
a glacier dangerously melting inside me as I
prepare dinner—momentarily I pause
to sabotage silliness,
to search for the essential,
(the washer turns to the dryer and
says what is she talking about?)
to praise god on paper. I am
a woman who lives on a watery planet,
cleans, makes astute observations,
and asks:
which way to Poetry?
(and from the cupboard, the sound
of plates clapping approval)