How to be a Woman

In honour of International Women’s Day, a re-post of a poem I wrote a while ago.  Here’s to every strong, independent, talented, compassionate woman I’ve ever had the fortune to know.  Especially my daughter, who continues to teach me how to be a woman.

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The Walk

I’d walk her into the ocean with her pockets stuffed with stones if she said that was where her happiness lived.  I don’t know if that makes me the greatest of friends or the worst. But I’d go with her, wherever she wandered, without reservation or reproach.

She doesn’t need me to tell her what to do; how to live; who to be. She simply needs to be loved. That’s what I do. I love her without restriction.  No stipulation, no prerequisite, no request for reciprocity.  But she does – she loves me that way too. Because her soul and mine are the same.

For as long as there is life in us, no matter who joins us on the way, she and I will be together; side-by-side.

We will walk each other home.

I will remember…

I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever. Your leg, my leg, your arm, my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.

– Charles Bukowski

Fuck You for That.

Again. You are doing this again. Again, you are making me feel as if I could seduce you, love you, lose myself inside your fantastic “I” forever. Again, this desperate aliveness, alertness. And you. Not “you and me” – merely you; this is all you. You are making this happen: you are excelling at this. You are causing this and you are owning this. Volcanic you are – you. Fuck you for that. Thank you for that.

– Henry Miller to Anaïs Nin