Wednesday, July 30, 2014

drowning voices

she speaks
but no one listens
she cries in the night
the owls hoot their reply

her feminine truth remains lodged
in her throat
like a jumble of linguistic jargon
in warm spittle
her wisdom buried
beneath molten guile and disguised agenda
the musty earth protecting a cauldron
of nurtured secrets

birthing and vomiting at once
the Real woman
clutching her boldness
her complexity
frighteningly lovely
her magic stemming
from infinite depths
and her circle of sisters

she was incomplete,
a proliferating fetus of
cells enmeshed in purity and goodness
multiplying at warp speed

awaiting God's perfect timing
to arrive

men revere her
fluid words
they carry prudence
and unlikely humility
moses lying in the basket
floating downstream in muddy waters
his cries gaining strength
the princess drawing him out
his vocal chords beginning to resonate
a universal hopefulness
and red-blooded blessing
to live and speak
and drown only
that which must die

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