To My Maker:

(This poem was written for a creative writing class,
based on the painting "Weeping Woman" by a friend of mine.)


So many shades, thank you, yes, every shade.
But only blue.
Where is the brown of earth?
The green of leaf?
The blood's living rush of red?

You think me
Other
in my sorrow
Woman
in my weeping.

Other is always
limited in definition
by definition
by unknowing.
So is Woman.

My grief has overcome me.
It does not consume me.
You have created me.
You do not know me.