I like to dream that
someday,
I would want to
be a wife.  A creature,
the myth and the truth
of my culture.
I would stand in the
kitchen, and
carry his honour,
my grace
and our children
on my widened hips
and for that,
he would call me his
omram. I would smile
and fill the house
with smoke from oud.
I would move from one
room to another
in long silk dresses,
a country to another.
I would pack love and
my mother’s pickles.
This creature, his name
trailing mine, a gift
to his ancestors,
a loss to mine.
But it would grace me
to be this creature
to be his creature
in his house, to be
worshiped in love,
swollen breasts
and long hair, on his bed.
Goddess of a home, mother
of beautifully raised children
but only a wife
to the world.

– Creatures of Culture by Thamanna Razak