Woman of Valor: Two Poems

Woman of Valor, Tradwife, Sings of Herself

An archetype, I am anchored to the past
By ball and chain. Shackled,
Calm, I wear black clogs,
Drive carpool, peel my husband’s
Eggs and serve them warm with arugula,
Farro, sweet potatoes. He chose well.

Gilded, I’m a merchant ship. Prowl the house,
Howl at night in my socks. Slip
Ice cubes in his glass, knife homemade
Jam on his toast. My hair hidden beneath a silk
Kerchief. My fingers grip the spindle,
Lamp never extinguishes,
My hands open to the poor. I do
Not fear the snow.

Observe me! Clothed in scarlet,
Purple linens. I am country-less
Queen without attendants. My crown
Rests on my nightstand. Dream I’m

Soldiering into the sea, salty
Tongue. I’ve learned not to open my mouth, just what not to
Utter. Penetrate my armour, lift my translucent
Veil, you’ll smell the damp
Wool of my wanting. Unbraid my fla-
Xen hair and sing, Many daughters have done worthy things, but
You’ve excelled them all. Have I? I’m enervated
Zeal, pushed around the plate. They praise me at the gates.

Woman of Valor Cooks Chicken Soup
​​I used the dairy knife
to skin the chicken
breasts for the soup
which my husband ate
with such gusto –
so hot! so delicious! –
tonight for the holy Sabbath
dinner. I don’t desire
to be a bad wife,
a plague unto my husband,
an impious woman
who arranges the table
with delicacies – golden
broth brimming with carrots
and matzo balls – but
who arranges her mouth
with deceit, the truth
twisted on her tongue
like the rubbery, feathered
skin peeled from the flesh
cold, coiled about
the sharp blade
which I washed
in warm water
(after I put the soup
up to boil) with the blue
dairy sponge. Forgive me.
It was easier
than searching
for the meat knife
and, moreover,
easier than an affair,
a divorce lawyer,
or another argument
about who upholds
the law
in the kitchen.