Wild


sitting with perfect posture
she’s always a southern lady
good manners her forte
converses in pleasant voice
while she weighs her words
adding, “Bless their heart,”
when a comment becomes
anything but syrupy sweet

she’s learned to be kind to
the elderly even when they
are demanding and hateful
and she’s been taught to be
disgustingly deferring to men
outwardly she’s a true paragon
of womanly charm and virtue
a genteel flower of the South

inside she seethes with anger
at the injustices and slights
of a world that conspires to
always “Keep her in her place”
there’s a wild thing inside her
howling, straining to get out
a primal creature who longs to
run with wolves, hunt with lions

someday….when she wakes up
she’ll tear open the cage bars
expose to reality’s stark daylight
what she has hidden in darkness
free to run through the forest
lustily howl at the moon at last
and dare to become the liberated
honest woman she was created to be


6/3/2015