The Woman Question
She was born of woman as a word,
swaddled in question marks but cooed
with answers - statements of soothing reassurance
‘Til she could grow into sentences of her own.
In a Period of Time, learnt to play, learnt to ask
why / why / why / why / why to every question another / why /
a game of frustration and interrogation, repeating
why / why / why / brandishing questions as her weapon,
taking / why / and turning it to / why not / and / not yet /.
She carved into knowledge itself with her questions and
Reaped wisdom from its wounds.
Down the line of youth, the world tore questions from her hands
and turned them against her;
/ why / was now followed by decade-long questions with
answers so indeterminate they were almost nonexistent.
They shoved / why / down her throat till it bled,
And her body ached from reciting answers
to questions she didn’t care for
When she’s cast-out, bleeding answers and holding questions
Above her head, she’s the lonely word spinning
Out amongst the stars - testing - testing - 1, 2, 1, 2,
Does anybody read me?
But there’s radio silence, and a break in / why /
a slow breath, a lull in words, until-
a resurrected question in her heart,
Just the spark, the spirit of questioning,
Of who, of what, of why again - of tilted heads and hands raised
Of craving and learning truth, of questions
With no answers and answers with no questions
Spurring noise, spurring hope, and living
With a question on the tip of her tongue.
Login or register to post a comment.