I have to wonder
what my life would be like
if my great-great grandmother had
a birth certificate.
What if,
in Athens
(circa 1910),
women were people with
their own stories,
not just a footnote in a man’s?
What if she was told
she could become something great?
Instead she received
a legal reminder that
she would never
be the perfect son.
Her name, Helen,
written down to be
known as her father’s daughter
and her husband’s wife.
Never on her own.
If Helen had a chance to be remembered–
who would I be?
Would I have been punished for reaching towards the sun?
Would my ambition be fueled by confidence
and not rage?
Maybe I wouldn’t be fighting a constant
battle with myself
and an invisible enemy,
fighting to stop myself from feeling small.
But, the ancients believed
in a woman called Artemis
She was the goddess of the moon.
I have to wonder,
when the moon covers
the sky, does she think
she is protecting us
by diverting our eyes
from the sun?