Praise to women becoming poems
take time to choose truth.
Praise to women who don’t have to be good
use words to smooth pain into clear voice.
Praise to women who belong to sky, stone
heaven . . .to their own touch.
Praise to women who want more than they are given
stealing portions of minutes
grateful for seconds to
offer themselves to their questions.
Praise to women who crochet dreams
of golden wounds.
Praise to women who step down
from mad-made heights
singing hymns of birth.
Praise to childless mothers
who bless earth with nurturing.
Praise to husbands who take care of children
who say “I love you” with a smile as their wives leave.
Praise to daughters crying at doors
happy-sad, not knowing
the power of their
clinging, grabbing finally letting go.
Praise to driving into dark quiet evenings
attention magnified
listening to nature scratching
Praise to voices in silence,
plunging into oceans of
familiar sounds so deep
you can hardly breathe.
Praise to relief in getting back to something
you brushed with years ago.
Some spirit, phantom that was you.
Praise to courage it takes to love
the most simple and ordinary of things,
the courage it takes to love oneself.