sunrise over swamps

sunset over melancholy seas

Poem 17 of 30

on April 18, 2013

We tap out our indignation,

we women, mothers, all adults here,

as though threatened by younger girls.

Fearful? Perhaps, but of what are we so scared?

Is it the youthfulness embodied by the women

who have not yet learned what it is to love,

to create life,

to live fully and

to be loved?

Do we not now extend a hand, or a kind thought,

to those who remind us of ourselves?

Or do we fear that to do so,

to get too close,

is to show up the age lines on our skin

and the hints of grey hair?

We are mothers who have not yet learned to mother,

fearing children as though they were an enemy

or a rival,

the hint of early womanhood

setting our men against us

because they see who we are:

frail, older, progressing inexorably to decay.

Yet, all must decay, sooner or later,

and we all succumb to the grind of time and entropy.

If only we knew that our words could live beyond us,

we would select them more wisely,

and pray that our speech reflected a good heart,

a kind heart.

And we fear each other:

crudely creating alliances on a shared hatred,

a common enemy,

scapegoats and stereotypes, all.

Missing the complexity of human life and story,

missing the value inherent in each other,

because we fear.

So, we sling our words as weapons,

not thinking nor knowing that

instead of making ourselves safe,

we have only proven ourselves


cold, and





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