She Meditates. By CpSingleton © 2015
Her pupils have trouble seeing,
They know that there are obstacles.
They fumble, hands forward like
Mummies from a black and white,
Yet snag clothes and bruise hips.
Their connections to questions,
Grasp of evolving, need to take
A new, clean step further up dear
Yaakov’s ladder are limited by a
Masculine adherence to dominance.
She sighs, clears her thoughts, like
A leaf blower to a cluttered pathway,
Feels the change in the small, but
Ever growing minority and waits
For time to knock and join the party.