And She

This is pain with purpose,
this waiting thing
to see what may come from a budding need,
this crawling feeling
over broken glass
and he stands back in scorn
because what has he created
what has he ever done alone
what has he ever birthed
besides resentment,
what has he ever done
except sow discord
and so she bows her head
and she laughs the broken-glass laugh,
and she lets blood feed the roots of her mighty fears,
and she knows someday
all her mistakes
will bear delicious fruit.

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