What do women hold?
The home and the family.
And the children and the food.
The friendships.
The work.
The work of the world.
And the work of being human.
The memories.
And the troubles
and the sorrows
and the triumphs.
And the love.
Men do as well, but not
quite in the same way.
Sometimes, when I feel particularly happy or particularly happy or content,
I believe that I can provide sustenance for legions of human beings.
I can hold the whole world in my arms.
Other times I can barely cross the room and drop my arms.
Frozen.
The holding never ends and, by the way, there is often the feeling of never doing enough.
And then there is the next day,
and the next.
And one holds.
And one holds.
Poem: Maira Kalman
