The many women I am: a poem

Background: This initially was not a poem, just an outflow of words that came at a point when I was consumed with understanding who I am; and at the same time being fascinated with how I have been and continue to be so many women during the course of my existence. I first shared this on my WhatsApp status and I was pleasantly surprised by the responses I got from other women. It turns out that while I thought that I was paying homage to the entirety of who I am- I was doing the same for other women too, who identified with and had embraced the ever-evolving natures of their identity. Women’s Day thus feels like the perfect day to share this with an even wider audience. If this poem resonates with you, kindly consider sharing it with another woman in your life. It is a beautiful gift to womanhood. Here goes:

I engaged in the vain task of counting how many women I am.

I came to about 35, then 127 and finally 533-

An absurd number for the absurdity with which

I am numerous, infinite, and endless.

One group of those women sat on high bar stools in the back of my neck:

Moneyed, independent, loud women with terrifying, liberating laughter.

Another group was at the front of my head,

A large cathedral and library blocking their view.

I met the shiest, yet the most resolute group sitting on top of my head:

They were cowrie shells woven into my hair;

They were the dye of earth’s deep ochre on its tips, and

They were the dash of blood and coffee lipstick on my lips.

One woman stood out from among them all:

The one who is fascinated by life’s fragile and precarious underbelly;

The one who makes relieving mention of our secret sins.

The one who will not be prayed away. Wished away. Hoped away.

The one who constantly multiplies me

Into multitudes of strange, unfamiliar women.

Now I am 739 women. Tomorrow, I will be 1000.

That woman, she sits in my heart.

AGA 08032024

Anna Grace Awilli