baby was born under
starry sign of
virgin perfection,
can't recall her
daddy's face

but he is looking down
on her soul from the
unchart'd doors of
heaven's attic

granny j was tether'd
by unwritten laws of
land-lock'd feminine
servitude; bound by
18 pulsing umbilical ropes,
never knew the pleasure
of being in the groom's mother's
seat of her pride and joy's union
that usher'd in her
unknown infant empress. . .

but she would have,
if she could have. . .
if only her freeze-dry'd
sense of self was seen
as more than just that
of a resource providing
humans like a mule team,
that was disciplin'd by
Willie Lynch protocol. . .

what a legal malevolence
gone for years and years
unpunish'd, a vagina forcing out
self-loathing creatures
in the image of God who
felt the sting of the whipping
branch, wrongly identifying
the relentless grip of abuse
in disguise as strokes of love

no wonder their progeny fail
to embrace possibilities
of greatness and grandeur
for their history was stripp'd
by pirates, their treasures
left behind, abandon'd
and wilting in fading wrappings
of ornamental cobwebs
and dust. . . 

© 2005 cynth’ya lewis reed,
all rights reserv’d