I Shake My Head At The Silly Women Poem by Rebekah Gamble

I sat there staring out the window,
not seeing what was there, but thinking
over why the Norwegians are so obsessed
with the idea of hope.
It seems they lose hope in a city,
but find it again in the clouds over the mountains.
Pink clouds.
I was weighing this in my mind
on gold scales
as the women were whispering
in the next room over, behind me.
I didn't realize right away,
but they were whispering over me.
Seems they don't think I live right.
Silly things! Their television and their magazines
have made them blind.
They don't even see the pink clouds.
I live perfectly well,
and no one has more treasure.
Treasure is essential to living perfectly,
even they agree to that.
I have a four bowl set
hand made, with matching spoons,
although I only need one.
I have shelves stacked with mountains
of treasure: shelves holding
the knowledge of the world,
stories and thoughts, poems and songs
that have found their way to me
from all over the world!
Look here! Out my window,
my treasure!
I have three trees (that perhaps have me)
all with different leaves and colors.
I have fingers of beans
and fans of green
rising up out of the earth
to support me if I grow weak.
I will never be hungry.
How can they say
this is not life lived properly?
All the while I am oblivious
as to whether the neighbors
have bought a boat.