I come from women who have found themselves with child
and carried on, surprised and terrified,
waiting for the feeling of delight.
I come from women who dig into the dirt
for comfort and make things grow
I come from women who know a darkness
who speak of it in shadowed ways,
or not at all.
I come from them, I am them.
We who walk away from crowds and conversations,
we who talk about sunsets with charisma, we who return from
time spent on big warm rocks, skygazing,
with a new strength.
We who must learn, again and again
just how much we need other people.
I come from a religion of planting flowers.
Always, there were tangled vines with purple-blue
buds opening into a burst, climbing up the
criss-cross of wire fence,
beautifying, complicating, every spring and summer.
I come from places I cannot name well,
but I know them well.
I will plant my seeds too, and revere
at the end of the tangles.
One response to “I come from women”
I really like this.