Poem

At the first forum on "What is it to be a woman" I read this poem asking us to consider what we would tell a young girl about being a woman...thought it might be a good reminder as we continue thinking about our own identity as women:

Gifts for my girl



As you grow, you will need new shoes
often, and I would give you
other things to stand on
that are handsome and useful
and fit you well, that are not
all plastic, that are real
and knowable and leather-
hard, things that will move
with you and breathe rain
or air, and wear
well in all weather.

For beauty, I would buy
a gem for you from the earth’s
heart and a ring that is gold
clear through and clothes the colors
of flowers. I would cultivate in you
a gentle spirit, and curiosity,
and wonder in your eyes. For use,
in your house I’d hang
doors that are solid wood
without hidden panels of air, set
in walls built on brick more
than one inch thick.
On your floors I’d stretch fleeces
from black sheep’s backs
and for your sleep, sheets
spun from fibers that grew, once,
on the flanks of the fields.
I’d mount for you one small,
clean mirror for a grinning
glimpse of yourself, and a whole
geometry of windows to the world,
with sashes that open hard, but
once lifted, let in breath
of pure sun, the smell of day,
a taste of wild wind, an earful
of green music.

Now, and always,
you will need to be nourished.
For your mind-poems and plays, and words
on the pages of thousands of books:
Deuteronomy, Dante and Donne,
Hosea and Hopkins, L’Engle and Lewis.
For your spirit, mysteries and praise,
sureties and prayer. For your teeth
and tongue, real bread the color
of grain at a feast, baked and broken
fresh each day, apricots and raisins,
cheese and olive oil and honey
that live bees have brought
from the orchard. For drink
I’d pour you wine
that remembers sun and shadow
on the hillside where is grew,
and spring water wet enough
to slake your forever thirst.

As you grow, the air around you
Will be full of calls and strange
directions. Choices pulling at you
and confusion of dreams.
And I would show you a true compass
and how to use, it, and a sun steady
in its orbit and a way
through the woods by a path
that will not peter out.

Soon you will know well
the sound of love’s voice
and you have, already, hands,
and a heart and a mouth
that will answer. And I
would learn with you
more of how love gives and receives,
both, with both palms open. I
am standing here, far enough away
for you to stretch and breathe,
close enough to shield you from
some of the chill and to tell you
of a comfort that is
stronger, more real,
that will come closer still.

by Luci Shaw. The Sighting.