From the bonds of our friendships
we tossed our weight, full with
sorrow, rage and visions.
Amazing and wonderful women,
together,
supporting, not preaching or judging---
menopausal and nursing, sleep-deprived,
time to be out!
Culture and race and woman and birth,
all of our stories unique, and yet one.

We stand in awe of the strength of women.
A revolution of community propels us forward.
The dark angel of motherhood is our light,
our wise woman. In different stages of the play,
characters drip with truth, with sex…pretending,
telling and retelling our shared stories, hammering
our bones to build new selves.
Some questions belly bulging womb,
awesome daughters questioning darkness,
seeing light.

Oooooooeeee, crowning creation, we finally
birth ourselves. When the blood flows us
into our sister-strength. Water breaking
in the banquet room. Cheers greet the new girl.
The new girls, the fresh girls, blue girls, black girls.

Black woman in a room of white faces,
incessant giggles at inappropriate places,
they can’t know
what it means
to be her.

My ears ear the edges of dreams.
Awake before the clock,
my heart’s soft pink sunrise is
screaming in my ear
like my own private orgasm.
Oh, you have touched every part of my body.

I am a MOTHER
immersed in nurturing
smothered in mothering
The skin we’re in—
what does it do to our hearts when our
eyes separate instead of join in the ribbon
of brown tan freckles cocoa vanilla cinnamon
if I had known
grandchildren were so much fun
I would have had them first
A grandmother’s question to her daughter:

When will you accept
my wisdom?