My map stands empty,
no pins to leave my footprints
and the seven wonders.
I cannot boast of a thousand cultures
swimming first hand through my veins,
nor can my tongue speak of any language
other than the one given by my mother
as she enriched my palette with
poverty’s favorite dishes.
I’ve not seen a multitude of sunsets kissing
new horizons nor watched as the moon spills
pearlescent love across lakes, upon oceans, upon rivers…
Upon earth’s most glorious waterfalls.
I’ve never attended a grand ball,
or danced across a stately hall.
My memories are not decorated in cultures finest,
embossed in pearls encrusted in diamonds.
I am not cultured.
I was not taught the fundamentals of elocution,
I cannot call myself a lady.
My name is not a sought after rose fragranced in class
and watered with the travels of a Prada bag.
I guess I am poor…
and every morning I thank the gods for this blessing
and each evening
as I watch the same moon ascend the skies
I thank the heavens in my addressing.
I have no pins trotting across an atlas,
just the essence of my soul that walks with
each that has crossed my path.
I cannot speak in the tongue of others,
only the tongue of humanity. I am cultured only
in the depths of trust and loyalty, taught
only to give and never to take to smile in kindness
and never be fake. I’m better than no man,
and no worse then a Queen, taught to work
hard towards all that I dream. I will
give you my last, I will give you my first
whilst quenching my soul and its insatiable thirst.
I’ve no pins, no seven wonders, no silk or cashmere,
champagne is yet to cross my lips and still I’ve never
learned to twirl from my hips. I lack culture,
eyes empty and mind filled with the
common mans dream,
I’m better than no man, rich or poor,
and worse than no Queen on land or ashore.
Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words