A woman like me, for example

Not enough sanity or patience for a proper blog post these days. But I found this to be oh so true . . .

Fernanda Laguna, Argentina 

A woman like me, for example
(translation by Stuart Krimko)

A woman
doesn't deserve
the time
to dedicate herself
to things that interest her.
Because...

Is it because the things that interest a woman
aren't interesting?
Or is it because....
A woman doesn't show enough interest
in the things that interest her for others
to think they're interesting and give her the time?
Or is it because...
The interesting things she does are things that are interesting to someone else
precisely because they're things that someone else doesn't find interesting?

A woman asks herself
so many questions...
A woman like me, for example
who has a few brief moments
to do something that interests her.

And while these moments pass her by
she asks herself
Was this what I wanted to do?
Ask myself questions like these?
Waste this precious hour they have granted me
thinking about things I'm not even sure I want to think about?
Does a woman really deserve
the time to do the things she wants to do
if she doesn't know what she wants to do, really?
Does she deserve the time it takes
to believe that she wants to do something?
Does it even make sense to keep thinking about it?
It doesn't matter,
the lost time is what it is to be a woman.
A woman like me,
for example.

So it is and so it must be and so it must not be

When a female human being thinks of herself
she thinks
about whether she is a human being or not.
A woman believes she has to be so smart
that the rest of the world has to convince itself that in fact she's quite stupid
because deep down she believes that the more she's cast aside
the freer and happier she'll be,
cast aside to the place in life cast aside by the means of production.
That wondrous place where ungovernable things thrive,
ungraspable things,
things like life and death,
and time and love and secrets,
and beauty and intuition,
and the universe and everything inside it,
simple and meaningless things,
among other "things."

Or something like that... I think.
Anyway.... it's very difficult to finish a poem
and give it a fixed meaning.
But I did pretty good, right?
A woman is someone like me, for example.