A Pause for Menopause or A Long Period?  

Dear Patron,

Check out this work in progress? It feels important but what do I call it? Would you share this with someone who and why? What stands out for you? Any other thoughts on this poem?

By Venus Jones

What’s the prize for longevity?

I wish the last cycle for a woman was celebrated.

What if we had to pause and reflect on it:

How we managed to survive the heavy bleeding.

I picture somewhere in the world,

some women line up to listen.

How do you expect the unexpected?

How do you monitor eggs on furlough?

This womb has delivered a hot flash and a fever.

Once two bolts of lightning battled in my stomach.

When the lining of my uterus started shedding
the piercing pain was all too familiar for me to weep.

The pigment in my hair’s follicles turned grey.

But I just painted a heap of henna over my roots.

Some temples younger than me refuse to work overtime.

My hair and patience are thinning, yet and still, I’m growing.

What if a crowd cheered for every woman’s tenacity.

If we lived in a communal culture or a melodic matriarch,

I imagine during your first midlife crisis when your monthly is missing,

your employer would grant you an honorable discharge.

And say, “Take time to respect the process. Relax. You’re released.”

A wise silver haired woman would appear on your doorstep

carrying a sound bowl, two boas, and a bottle of Syrah in a basket.

She’d place a beautiful crown on your head adorned with red rubies.

With your hands in hers she’d say, “Today you are priority number one.”

I imagine sage circling the air and you standing in a commanding pose.

I haven’t received this type of visit from a dear friend or my monthly lately.

But what if we were taught to say goodbye to a lifetime ritual in regal fashion.

Picture a post-menopausal woman you love singing you an inspirational song.

At my gala I’d share this letter, “Despite all the pain you caused me

I loved you fiercely, for nearly 4000 days, and that’s a long period!”

I’d laugh at the time she sent me searching for adult diapers with no shame.

Just two cycles ago, when the moon was high, and my pace was slow.

I have the notion to prep a motherless child approaching puberty in a panic.

And be the wise woman she dreams I am. Maybe I can wipe her tears away.

Invite her to celebrate with me that we both have bled for days without dying.