On being a woman

I
They blame the headaches on hair pulled too tight
They blame the heartaches on the six hour flight
But me-
with scraped knees
I know the truth
Of being a woman, running from her youth.
A woman said to me "I've been there before..."
I guess that's why she walked by every open door.
But she-
with degrees
and letters behind her name
She is still a woman of very little fame.
They blame obscurity on the town where they die
They never blame themselves for reaching too high
But me-
in the trees
I'm still learning to climb
I think, "Finally, I'm a woman, who is now in her prime."


II

The best thing about being a woman is no longer being a little girl.
That's the short and shorter of it.
No more tiny fingers dallying a too-heavy, golden wine glass.
But ringed fingers tapping and wrapped around a bottle of beer.
No more asking everyone around me what to do with my life,
but a knowing smile and an acknowledgment of how things really are.
Baking a pie and making a cute couple--are not my only half-parted strengths.
Now, looking good and sounding smart and sassing back without punishment, apology
--or permission.