The inky pen has fallen from my hand

The inky pen has fallen from my hand
As I lay my body on the bed
It dropped uncapped like shell on sea edge sand
As I find I ‘m born but never wed

I see my body sprawl on sheets of red
My choices  have never been  called bland
In the daytime, am I read or dead?
I look down and see unwritten bond

A barren woman  is forever damned?
No child has she, but blood  overwhelming shed
The fig tree laughed as Jesus was condemned
I see myself from high  above my bed

No library was built for women’s works
In the space between the men we lurk