I Am Woman

I am a woman.
That means I become half a person when I marry,
a mere extension of my husband.
A nameless, faceless, mindless entity
born to endure his needs,
to become slave to his wishes,
entombed in a kitchen
mop in hand
dreams underfoot.
I am a woman.
That means I become half a person when I marry.
Planting seeds instead of sailing seas.
Harvesting dirty dishes,
dirty shirts
unending dust.
To be thrown the women’s section of the newspaper and
be patted,
pinched,
pulled,
kissed,
held,
hugged,
loved,
smothered
until I could scream:
let me go
let me go
to my dreams
underfoot.