Beware this reliance
on thin clouds in a blue sky
on definitions from the diction of others
who insist that the internet is connection
who imply that we were lost before
that our ways were not working
our weavings imperfect
our songs out of tune.
We are not meant to be
made of transaction, of sedated inaction
soft, quiet and blond.
Understanding our energy put forth, our efforts
we grow as we gather so we are not spent
on the mimicry of youth, acting helpless and hairless
on dyeing, hides hidden from their true form
what if we women declared wisdom
instead?
Give me your hand! Palm open! Come along!
as this work, like yours
is unfinished.
