Poem About A Female Poet--(10/25?)

It offends my sensibilities a bit
I suppose,
thinking of her alone.
(although I'm sure she doesn't have to be)
Sitting alone
Sleeping alone
Eating alone
Watching television alone
Driving in her car alone
Typing out poems alone.

It seems a travesty considering
that there is
so much more to her
than most.

She is beautiful without being vain.
Intelligent without being haughty.
Stylish without being shallow.
Passionate without being unmanageable
Soft spoken without being shy.
Responsible without being tedious
Capable without being overbearing.
Worldly without being cynical.
Confident without being aggressive.
Deep without being sullen
Talented without being ego driven.

A very fine woman.
Oh yes,
and the other thing;
She can write,
I mean really write.
Her poems grab you
with fire and beauty and guts.
Revealing and honest and sharp.
Sometimes taking your breath
or making the heart skip.
It's something.

I suppose that's why thinking of her alone
seems unjust.

I mean,
I'm no accomplisher of great things
no mover of mountains
shaper of destinies.
I get some good lines down sometimes
and that's about it.
But that,
that I could do,
make that female poet not alone
I could do that
That would be easy.
Like dancing through an orchard.
singing in the shower
whistling along
eating a slice of pie, or
smiling at the moon.

Yes,
that I could do,
given opportunity.
That I could surely do
oh yes,
yes yes yes yes yes.



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