Blessed is he who made me a woman – 
that I am earth and Adam,
a tender rib;
Blessed is he who made me
circles upon circles – 
like the orbits of planets
and spheres of fruit – 
who gave me living flesh
that blossoms,
and made me like a plant of the field – 
that bears fruit;
so your cloud tatters,
slide like silk
over my face and thighs;
and I am grown
and want to be a girl,
weeping from sorrow,
and laughing, and singing aloud,
thinner than thin – 
like the smallest cricket
in the sublime chorus
of your cherubs – 
smallest of the small – 
I play
at your feet – 
my Creator!

1969