H.E.R. (How Eve's Remembered)

Man blames you
for the outcome of his future.
He says you bit away Heaven
because he wasn't there
to stop you, or help say no.
Doesn't that sound familiar? 
Having to make a choice 
because he couldn't.
You call that single parenthood.

Adam said you were defective,
but he wasn't protective.
His sons went on stealing kids,
raping mothers, killing both.
He pointed fingers your way
after the fruit was taken,
yet Ted Bundy's face
burns  your memories
more than a mistake you didn't make.

You carry family and your dreams
like a heavy purse, 
but you never leave it on the ground
or behind because your needs
require safeguarding, too.
A bouquet of flowers
on your worst day
or drive to the beach
where water sings to your ears
might make up for Adam's accusation,
but not ours.

Your bosom
pours out of dresses,
your curves twirl and dance,
happy, not hypnotizing us
into forcing ourselves
to submit your denies.
Lies have been coining your name
since Adam threw it under the tree.
Maybe that's where it's been
since the sword of fire
kicked us out of the best club ever established.

Your name
was recently added to voting rights in 1920,
respected for good acting
and not just good makeup,
seen as mover and shaker,
not just mother and lover.
We love her, says us men refined,
reminded that you're capable
of making your own decisions,
especially when it doesn't include
our brains or bedroom acrobats.