I saw your wife tonight.
No Athena. No Medea.
No Adelita nor Malintzín.
From what I could observe
she is a woman risen from a rib
like any other—
two eyes, two breasts, one uterus.
She did not arrive
wearing raiments of gold
on a barge from the Nubian Nile.
No Botticelli pearl is she
riding the crest of a wave
on a pretty half shell.
She did not trophy
serpents in each upraised fist
mighty as a priestess.
She neither graced her
walk with flowered skirts
and balanced basket,
nor stand Carmenesque,
hands on hips, and thrust
her haughty laughter out.
She did not sling
a rifle upon her back,
nor a child across her breasts.
Fire did not issue from her gaze
and no music from her lips.
Her hands were clean.
Her forehead modest, serene.
How did I fail to understand?
A female, like any common female.
For a common male.