Happy St. Patrick’s Day, in case you are Irish. If you aren’t…well, happy St. Patrick’s Day anyway. I am part Irish, but I’m not really Irish. I was born and raised in the US, and whatever my Irish heritage gave me, I’m not sure it’s distinctively Irish.

Anyway, my challenge. Yes. What to do? I wrote a poem. It’s not a good poem. It rambles. It doesn’t say what I want it to. I don’t think it is ready for prime time…or any time. But…I did make a promise, I made a vow, and I did write a poem. So here it is, for what it’s worth. Sometimes we just have one of those days.

I COULD FLY

 Once I had a dream.
I would…fly.
I would create things,
Go places,
See things,
And do things.
I would be everything
My grandmother wanted to be
But couldn’t
Because she was a woman.
I am a woman, too.
But my grandmother and her generation
Worked to change things,
Make things different,
For me.
So I could fly.

 Once my grandmother had a dream.
She dreamed I would fly.
I would fly in the ways she never could.
I would be a scientist.
I would be a writer.
I would be…everything she wished
She could have had the chance to be
If she wasn’t a woman.
She knew I would be a woman, too.
But she and her generation
Worked to change things,
Make things different,
For me.
So I could fly.

 Why don’t I fly?
Why do most of my dreams die
In infancy?
Why do those dreams I realize
Only come half true?
Why am I bound to a land where there is little water
|When I want to stomp in wetlands?
Why do I give up water
To follow dust?
I can fly.
But someone clipped my wings.

 My generation
Was told they could fly.
But we were also told
We must still be women.
We must cook and clean.
We must have babies.
We must give our lives
To the pursuit of other’s dreams.
We can fly
As long as we don’t fly too far.

 Early training dies hard.