Sharp Eyed Women

My year-long odyssey into the various styles of poetry has taught me many lessons about myself. I enjoy getting lost in the world of rhyming words. There still isn’t one style of poetry I would choose as my favorite to write in. July is the perfect month to create a selection of free verse poems. This style of poetry has no rules, which I find liberating. They don’t have to rhythm, but I suspect mine will rhythm because that is how I roll. One of the poems I plan to share during this month of free verse is Sharp Eyed Women.

Sharp Eyed Women

When I was young

I thought my Momma had superpowers

Omnipotent and omnipresent

Able to leap small buildings

With a single effortless bound.

X-ray vision to see through brick walls

And eavesdrop on conversations

Whispered a mile away.

I speculated

Her hearing aide was

a secret listening device

As efficient as an F.B.I. wiretap.

Because her clever clairvoyance invaded

All my childhood pranks.

Like when I stole pieces of penny candy,

From Jessie Weaver’s grocery store,

Or when we tortured Billy Piout,

The four-eyed pirate,

Convincing him, we were Martians,

Come to take over planet earth.

Threatening him with evaporation

If he exposed our evil plan.

And all the while,

She washed dishes,

Over at the Casa Granda

Cleaning pots and pans,

To make the welfare check

Stretch far enough so we could eat

And maybe afford a pair of Goodwill shoes.

When I was grown,

With kids of my own,

She told me her secret.

On warm summer evenings

After dinner and the dishes

Her army of secret informants

Delivered their intelligence reports

Over the backyard fence.

Momma had her spies.

A whole network of secret agents

More intelligent than the C.I.A.

Penetrating sharp eyed women eyes

Peaking from behind curtained windows

From the coolness of front porch swings

Behind the counter over at Jessie Weaver’s

The women watchers

Who knew who belonged to who,

And could put a face with a name.

These days I hear

It takes a village to raise a child.

A village filled with sharp eyed women

To put a face with a name.

These days there is no village

All the women have gone to work

In the offices and the factories

Behind the counters at the fast-food joints.

Chasing after the elusive American dream

With no one home but the children

With television as a babysitter

And a cellphone to tell them what to believe

Staying behind four walls out of fear.

And we adults wonder why

They have no morals

And shoot at one another in the street.

We need a village of sharp eyed women,

To sit on front porch swings

A silent network of secret informers

More intelligent than the C.I.A.

Who knows who belongs to who

And can put a face to a name.

With tongues as sharp as sabers,

And hands as strong as steel.

Their hearts as soft as goose down,

And wills as firm as flint.

Give me an army of sharp eyed women,

And I’ll turn this village around.

Who is Molly Shea?

Molly Shea is an accomplished fictional short story writer from Indiana who writes short stories and novels about a fictional town called Tecumseh.  To read more of her short stories and adventures, click here.

Be sure to follow Molly on Twitter!