Man and Menopause

Flowing through time, it ended so soon;
Then in despair, she dropped at his feet,
And touched the mortal regiments in their tomb;
Her sour ovaries, the tremor of breath, the beat
Of rancid blood trapped in that bodiless womb.

Lost of her possibility; she became a drone
Of darkness without eggs or bloodshed.  
Standing, she turned her back upon his throne
Turned her back upon his rule of the bed,
Upon his lordship of her body, and sat alone

In memory, to see his masculine eyes shake
The morning scent from her loosened hair,
And that girl that became a woman in his wake;
The blushes of colour in her cheeks appear
Then blend with flowers reflected on the lake.

Their muscles twitching, the filling of her pride,
The consummation of summer and spring,
Of memory and dream fusing as his bride
And the wonderment of a new life soon to begin
By giving him the joy that her body could provide.

"Queen of the Carers from Mistress to the unborn"
His voice cut through her memory to declare,
"Remember now the world where you were born;
The time of nurturing reveals itself here
And aside my throne, you will now adorn.”

But still she could not speak, so turned again
Looking for violence, for rejection, for command,
But his eyes were shut upon their pain.
Calmly, he reached down for her with his hand
And took possession of his woman's domain.

But, though dominating the realms of control,
He could not truly mask his own deep despair,
So she turned from her ovaries to cajole
Those youthful memories into ones that care;
To know him, and love him from her soul.

About the poet/painter