What is a woman?

What is a woman?

Is she poetry or is she prose? It may be a fundamentally silly question. May be? Almost certainly is. And yet, as a lover of language, it is a question which does not echo false in the chambers of my mind.

So.

What is a woman? Is she poetry or is she prose?

I think this is the wrong question. Poetry and prose are two sides of the same equation, using different math but arriving at answers that mean the same thing. I have always looked for, and tried to create, poetry within prose, because I believe that language can be beautiful and meaningful no matter what form it takes. If we continue the metaphor, and dig more deeply, we enter the world of phonaesthetics and stand upon the shores of euphony and cacophony. I have known women whose nature was fundamentally—though not wholly—euphonic, just as I have known women who were immeasurably cacophonic.

And so, to return to the original question, some women are poetry, some are prose, and some are neither at all.