Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman.
She sings the song as she scatters the flour
and traces the name her family gave her.
Words in white dust,
She kneads this therapy.
She bakes, and takes her gifts
to those who understand,
her group, her new-found family.
It’s here she laughs, and shares her stories
paints the pain away.
But when the door and curtains close,
she’s locked with loneliness inside,
abandoned with her memories.
She passes time with poetry
and picnics knitted just for bears.
She turns her music up and sings,
sometimes it’s hard to be a woman.