Dear white women:
We are late to the party.
Black women have been telling us
Indigenous women have been telling us
For years and years and years
About the exploitation of People of Color
About their bodies being used without consent
About the government’s disregard.
And now that it’s us
Our bodies that are being policed
Our lives that are being controlled
We’re finally ready to listen.
We say, “We’re with you!”
We say, “Together we can fight this!”
But… white women…
I don’t trust you. I don’t trust us
To fight for anyone but ourselves.
Astonishing how quick the shift
when one is mindfull of the moment.
Our outer selves end at our senses
Our inner selves goes on forever.
Outside may be rain and weather
Inside is always warm and dry.
Outside we are at the mercy
Inside we are the mercy.
Inside the hearth is always lit.
Inside the table is always set.
It's Different Now
Lightning and rainbow, iridescent,
glisten wakefully in the abandon and wrestle
of the hurricane’s path,
and perhaps you’re the one
at the end of
a “Once upon a time…” started in the
six years between us. With you
I feel more me than in the Before,
though the clock, hands swimming
in the tears weeping
through the glass face,
and it pushed me to you
and who I am now.
You have caught me:
Rain’s softened dry fallow soil,
and now shoots sprout;
cornflower and wild rose and
Canterbury bell bud in swaths along
the path ushering us forward together,
warm from ardor and breathing in life.