The Woman

I Love her… 
The woman who’s hands
Are calloused, 
whose back breaks 
From all the placements of babies 
Upon it. 
Years after years.

That woman who puts on
Various masks through life’s stages. 
First of a delicate carer,
Then of a strict teacher,
Then that of an enemy,
Before residing as a friend.
The woman with one thing constant,
Despite the mask-
Her soul:
The soul of a carer,
The heart of a lover.

The woman whose palms 
Have grazed various parts of 
My body. That woman whose arms 
Will always be open to me: 
Calling in silence,
No matter where I go, what I do
You are always welcome home.

That woman,
With her luscious frocks
And stout frame….
I love that woman.