The Beauty of Women
by Weam Namou
One of my poems was published a few days ago. I wrote it in honor of a woman who played a big role in my life last year. When I saw it published, I realized the number of women who have played mentors over the years, beginning with my mom, sisters, relatives, friends and teachers.
Today I was at the library with my children. I and the woman sitting beside me watched our sons play together at the train table and making small conversation like, how old are you? What’s your name? Her son said to my son, “My name is Crocodile.” My son started calling him “Croc” for short.
She and I laughed. We began talking and I discovered at forty years old, she had five children that ranged between the ages of 22 and 5. She has been taking care of people since she was eleven years old, when her parents separated and she, the oldest of seven siblings, had to take on the role of a second parent. A year ago, this woman twisted her foot stepping down only one step. Her ankle broke, and she had to have surgery and screws put in. Soon, she’ll have to have another surgery to remove the screws.
“A few days after the surgery,” she said, “I sat in my office chair and rolled from one room to the other in the house, cleaning.”
She was the typical mom that gives, gives, gives. One positive outcome of the accident is that since she can’t go, go, go all the time anymore, she has turned to reading and she love sit.
“I haven’t read so much since I was a kid,” she said. As for the housework, she has learned to say, “Fuck it!”
Link to recently published poem: http://peariverjournal.com/2013/02/26/a-new-poem-from-weam-namou-a-mentor/
Oh, how could I not comment on this, Weam?! How often I’ve had the “fuck it” conversation with women friends. At some point, we all come to this when it just gets too much, because mothers and women always give, give, give. Too, just having the kind of conversation you had with that woman with our friends is therapeutic. Love the pictures.
I left the library feeling like I have nothing to complain about.
Loved, loved, loved your poem!
Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!