The Woman Who Broke The Glass Ceiling

She climbed down from the ladder

“Too high for you, eh?” shouted the onlookers

and musing in haughty tones they departed

but to her, their ignorance never mattered

As she became determined to break their will

her soul rose higher every day

a spirit choking on depreciation, sexism

and intolerance had its fill

she marched not with the masses

but sat with the myriads of ink on the shelves

Orion had to tell her to sleep

as slumber overcame her crooked glasses

While the populace ranted and raved

for temporary things like wealth and wages

she remained quiet and composed

understanding her place

Hawthorne in her lap, Bronte by her side

they could not see the power she already had

and eventually would gain all she desired

yes, it was her time

One night, while the men slept

unaware their presumed authority was about to be taken

and the divine order demanding to be shaken

a pair of dashing feet carried a still sleeping body

through the city of her youth

past the doors that slammed shut

unacceptant of female verse

past the home of the priest

who preached acceptance by Jesus yet denied her presence in church

she reached the middle of the town

and ascended the ladder once more

with every step, her hair was tangled

and dress mangled

but defiant to both god and man

she carried her book her heart

a spear in her hand

and blasting through the glass ceiling

she paved the way for others like her

to write their own stories

and set in motion a new beginning