Freedom and Forgiveness

This is the last time I
will write
about you.

Don't go looking for
your name on my lips.
They're learning new songs of
freedom and forgiveness
because those are the things
that I want to be.

I can't do that if i'm digging my nails into your memory.

Dear, I release you from here.
From the room in my mind
associated with love and logic.

But this doesn't mean I won't think of you from time to time.
I am just a woman caught
between fortified cities and
the temptation to call on the
wolves that raised you to be
defensive and wild.

But I am tired of howling after you.

So this is the last time I
will write about about you,
hoping that you will
write about me, too.

The Undoing

Every now and then
I come a little bit undone.

Wading through the process,
waiting to see what this will become.

Maybe a door that leads to
more than I have ever expected.

Whatever may come,
whatever the season,
I will find joy in the littlest reasons.

Cheers to the End

I will do this for the one who grazed
the top of their dreams with their
calloused fingertips.

I will do this for my mother who
left her dreams in the basement of
her childhood home to collect
cobwebs.

I will do this for my grandmother
who wanted to be a nurse
but was told no.

I will do it for all the women
who look like me.
Skin the color of trees and the women
who have stood when they were told
to sit down.

The ones with hearts messier and thirstier than most.
The ones with wild eyes and fierce dreams.

Ladies, let me tell you.
   Stay messy.
              thirsty,
                    loud,
                       and sincere.

The world will tell you that's not ladylike.

You have no obligation to them.

So I will do this for all of you.
The tigers in hiding.
The ones with swords for tounges that
are told to be quiet.

This is for you.
This is us cheering to the end of your dying.

Wake up, sisters.
It's time to live.

Process

With the sidewalks and the streets
that are continually being redone,
repaved, or refinished
my hope finds me again.

If people can walk
all over them, if cars can drag themselves
across them and remain strong I venture
to say I can, too.

Roads are always in process, as are we.

I could be cracked but I am still here
in process.

That, in itself, is a victory.