Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet - Poem by Shirley Alexander
I am not the woman people envy
in her confident, got-it-all-together stride.
I am not that person who is called to offer prayer
in a gathering of Christians.
I do not sing like an angel, or paint beauty
into hungry and inspired artists’ minds.
I am not that woman. I’m not destined for dizzy fame
or breathless stolen kisses.
I am the woman who smiles at grasshoppers,
and lifts her face to smell rain.
I am the woman standing in the middle
of a muddy pasture with hay in her hair.
I am the woman who looses her giggles
in the quiet corners of inappropriate places.
I am the one who wants to chance wearing
purple with green, but chooses black.
I am the mother who knows a special child
is always on stage, and should dress accordingly.
I am the daughter and sister who visits a lonely hill
at midnight to confess my pain to headstones.
I am the jealous lover of time,
and all things I missed before heaven thrust me
wet, screaming, and angry into the unprepared
arms of my religious mother.
I am not someone you would remember
seeing on a sidewalk in Paris.
I am the woman who drops her papers
in the crowded hallways of life.
I leave bits of myself to be sorted
for future generations to read and wonder;
“Who was she, to find herself worthy
of a legacy of love and words? ”
Comments about Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet by Shirley Alexander
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You