a poem a day

Labors of Women

I find some small irony if not
enjoyment in the strength of silence
or what it's meant to convey. Sweeping
down the balustrades of our progress,
we swish on silk-clad bottoms, tongues mute
against the bars of civility
and shackles of all this good-girl-ness
we're taught so well. How to catch our flies
with honey and our frogs with kisses
are the stuff of girls' tales grown into
women's work. Can't remake us into
sleek new Rosie the Riveters when
mortgages and soft sheets keep us in
the fashion of cheap whores. We once wore
those skirts and lipsticks into battle
like armor; higher ranks warranting 
lower hems, but how little we knew.
Then. Except the value of silence,
a priceless offering handed down
mother to daughter through the eons.