Maya Angelou said she knew why the caged birds sang;
Well, I know something else,
I know why the virtuous woman remains a legend,
A fictional character of sorts,
She is the dream and goal of a young lady’s heart,
The epitome of indefatigable femininity,
We are told as soon we care to ask,
Yet she is trapped in the sands of history,
She is impeccable and all we must aspire to
And even before we start to allow our clay into the Potter’s wheel,
We know innately that we will never be her,
We will never be good or enough,
She is our adult version of Wonder Woman,
Good for stories and such….but only such,
Never moving beyond the Kodak pages of scripture,
That so perfectly capture her…
She is safe,
She is healed,
She is empowered,
She spells the word SHE,
And puts the definition in the word woman,
So she stays a legend,
We believe her to be with no knowledge of bitter or ugly,
She is eternally too good,
Not as soiled as we are…..
Now listen,
I come to dispel the faux,
That the virtuous woman is one with no past,
No scars and no torn dresses,
I write as one who was once like you,
And now is becoming She,
I dare to proclaim,
Little miss goody two shoes wasn’t always so little,
Her tush shoes weren’t always so good nor did she choose speech,
That sparkled with grace,
Her dress wasn’t always pristine nor her reputation divine,
Her hands were bloodied once,
Same blood cried out to God for justice,
And there were men buried deep in her scars,
The ones on her back and at the back of her mind,
Her innocence was raped off…by the clammy hands of life,
Call her Gomer, Tamar, Rahab or Mary….
She wears different faces in different places,
United in essence by the sameness of her struggles,
I hear she met Someone,
I hear Someone met her at the well,
Offered her water to quench the never ending inferno in her soul,
I hear Someone cast out her seven demons,
I hear she was bent over, broken and dying of silence,
Yes, the same Someone held her hand and commanded death to
‘ Loose her and let her go! ‘
And just like that,
This domitila from hell becomes the angel of proverbs 31.
I dare say she has a past,
Why else does she work so hard,
Funny thing is, she not trying to outrun it,
No,
She stands at her window on the wall, and waves a scarlet thread,
Her house is on the rock, the only unbroken part of the wall,
She runs to tell you to run,
Run!!!
Come, taste and see a Man who has told me all about myself,
Who evicted the demons and filled in my souls blank spaces,
And if only you drink of His water,
This need not be your present,
I need not be a legend….
Hear her voice echo over the horizon of history…..
‘You too can become S.H.E!!!’
Safe, Healed, Empowered,
Now ask me how,
My simple whisper….Jesus.
Chika Chikeka.
© 2018
Christ a poet 