it is odd being a woman
the anger that enters such
a being over the most trivial
of items, of comments but only
on a certain day: a time of month
all the rest of the days are calm: a haven
for men, pets, children, those loved ones miles
away - and yet when the anger hits - it tears all apart
and few seem to remember the calm days before and the
days after - then soon no one seems to remember the reason
for the anger and it all starts again: smoothly like a stone under water
