Mar 03

Swan Lake

We are women,
we are rising.

We are not chicks,
we are ducklings
that become swans.
Lakeside picnics
the lake bed undisturbed
by pollution.
Long necks always reaching
to see the bigger picture.
Beautifully imperfect.

We are palm trees
eating salt upon sand.

We are desert winds
chiding water.

We are jungle roots
stretching down
into the land.

We are mountain tops
giving birth to the sky.

We are dry grass baskets
woven by young hands, weathering paper cuts.

We are earth,
all women are our planet.

We are stones upturning by themselves
because you may not want
to hear our stories
but we will not let our voices
go unheard.