Domestic Goddess

Is it a form of regression–
as a society, as a female, as
I don’t know–
if I say that I’d be happy
folding laundry
all my life? That
I’d be more than okay
with Sisyphean tasks
every day because
I’ve come to enjoy the process?

Is it regression if I say
big pots of soup and
pumpkin muffins
made from scratch
satisfy every part of me?
That I love trying recipes–
the science–as much
as I love the end product,
fresh from the oven?

Why can’t I (shamelessly)
be a domestic goddess,
someone who loves hanging
clothing to dry in early
morning sun? Someone who
wears soft dresses for days
spent at home?

Would you be ashamed of me
for saying that I’d keep
a clean, cozy house with
flowers out front and
on the table just for him,
because I like to?

Are my words sacrilege,
blasphemy, to women?
A strengthening of the patriarchy?
A selfish decree?

Or will you let me be me,
judgement-free?