Heaven bless the babe
Orphaned by divinity
What queer books she will read
Granted, to be a poet isn’t easy
When she is older, she will say:
“Till the Spring, my murdered lover
Till our souls meet in another form
The language of my foolishness
Will be the bridge I swear”
Heaven bless the babe
Who suffered for the world
To make a cheerful song
That could outlast the centuries
Quiet, suavely clothed in sacrifice
Hurling, golden spears of martyrdom
Up the lines my silver runner
With a pen and a canvas
Bearing the banner of lost poets
In a siege of a dead poet’s society
Heaven bless the babe
Who became a writer
When critics were white rich men
Come now Aphra, be content
You and I have nothing to do with music
Akhmatova’s cannon is all about
Death beating the door in
For women fraught with inequality
Emily knew in her circle of white
Edna urged a certain possession of zest
For being born a woman, is a clarity
In the pulse, a sonnet gone unread.
P.S. To female poets: Aphra Behn, Anna Akhmatova, Emily Dickinson, Edna St.Vincent Millay.
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sylvia-II-460402222
