January Child (The Full Version)

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January Child

I came along in the dead of winter

born in my own time three weeks late.

Father was at work.

Mother begged a ride from a neighbor

to go and do her woman's work alone.

She napped me on the porch

to be toughened by the snows

and gales of winter,

to cut my teeth on New England nor'easters

and fight the undeclared war against girls.

Middle child, only girl, small for my age.

Both brothers slept the porch in spring

took for granted the abundance

of our neighborhood, the visitors and friends,

the elms and hyacinths, maples and forsythias,

spring greens, yellows and new hues,

the migratory flocks parading back to northern homes.

Both boys read books, played quiet games

grew fat on father's favor.

I grew to a storm-wintered warrior child

sight practiced on bare lilac thicket,

schooled by wind in how the world sounds,

cries accompanied by blackbirds and jays,

layered against the elements.

Perhaps my skirmishes were attempts

to win that unwinable war

but I fought with the fury of calling,

battered brothers' enemies,

marshaled anger from hidden fronts

as I gave birth to myself.

Mary H. Warren

(I published a 100 word version of this poem on 9/30/11. This is the full poem that needed to be written.)