her, whom i forgot.

to grow within the form of this ancient animal
with purposes that seem so beyond its instinct,
or the fixations of propagation;
woman stems from the earth and holds it
with the grace of her unyielding affections.

and i, descendant to her love and resentments,
to her desires and oppressions,
still stalk along her weary path, somewhere beside man.

i have long ago accepted her body, a beacon
of warmth guiding others - as mother and lover,
as some strange bread to nourish those who come like small birds,
and sometimes seems so perverse and unwilled.

the female, all psychology and flesh,
i must sew this label to my burdened chest.
but all that this must entail, i reject,
to form my own solitary particle, the individual -

although i know, from the coursing of my own blood,
that i must return to fulfill the natal promise
to this ancient living strain:
the mellowed power and legacy of womanhood.