feminism poetry

The gathering

January 18, 2021

A poem to start the week.

text reads

The Gathering

you are weary 

stripped of bark 

you have been shedding leaves 

resolve is blossom snatched by the wind

sometimes it is too much 

to know you have been hacked & pruned 

fashioned into furniture 

oiled & shaped for utility (or fantasy) 

your heart is not inanimate 

she is the tree whose roots run 

rich with connection 

when you are felled the Earth grieves 

with the heat of the sun 

still, your daughters rise from dirt-packed seeds 

each day you teach them to hold ground 

celebrate together in light 

when the moon is new 

she proclaims the song 

of the women who stand as a forest. 

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