Finding Her Here

I am becoming

the woman I’ve wanted,

grey at the temples,

soft body, delighted,

cracked up by life

with a laugh that’s

known bitter

but, past it, got better,

knows she’s a survivor­

that whatever comes,

she can outlast it.

I am becoming a deep

weathered basket.

I am becoming the woman

I’ve longed for,

the motherly lover

with arms strong and tender,

the growing up daughter

who blushes surprises.

I am becoming full moons

and sunrises.

I find her becoming,

this woman I’ve wanted,

who knows she’ll encompass,

who knows she’s sufficient,

knows where she’s going

and travels with passion.

Who remembers she’s precious,

but knows she’s not scarce­

who knows she is plenty,

plenty to share.

(Jayne Relaford Brown)

I am a wild woman

I know, inspite of myself

and in spite of what I've been told

that there's beauty in every age

no matter how old

I am a wild woman

I've learned what it means to be a life bearer

to bear children

to create art

to plant seeds of love

I am a wild woman

from the depths of the dirt underneath my fingernails

to the height of my very soul

I am one with the Earth

the winds from the four directions whisper through my skin

I am a wild woman

and the spirit of every wild woman coalesces in me

for we are each wild women

and we are all the spirit of the wild woman

I will follow the voice in my heart

I am a wild woman

I sing from my heart

I dance with the stars

I howl at the moon

I love uncontrollably

I am a wild woman

from the deepest, darkest, most sacred part of me

I am fearless

I cry in strength

I open my arms to the sky and welcome the rain

I am a wild woman

I nurture, love and protect

I stand, strongly, silently, sweetly for my brothers

I walk dutifully, prayerfully, joyfully upon the mother

and I will not be stopped

I am a wild woman.

(Melissa Clary)

Lied

In uns sind alle Leidenschaften

und alle Laster

und alle Sonnen und Sterne,

Abgründe und Höhen,

Bäume, Tiere, Wälder, Ströme.

Das sind wir.

Wir erleben

in unseren Adern,

in unseren Nerven.

Wir taumeln.

Brennend

zwischen grauen Blöcken Häuser.

Auf Brücken aus Stahl.

Licht aus tausend Röhren

umfließt uns,

und tausend violette Nächte

ätzen scharfe Falten

in unsere Gesichter.

(George Grosz)