Sigh no more, ladies.
Time is male
and in his cups drinks to the fair.
– Adrienne Rich (“Sanpshots of a Daughter-in-Law”)
The women here wear leaves,
offer shade and dance in place
of plans to clear the unimproved—
or they bear children, populate
with coyote pups that learn
to clean the plates of men
girls fill with grass, raising
cows for heifer calves—
women teaching women.
The hawks are nesting, almost
everything on the wind
is a feminine production—
no passing fad for a buck.
I’ll raise my glass, bet
our future on the women.
We are, and always have been, subjects
of the weather, of the blazing sun
and phasing moon, the swirling winds
and tides—subjects, lackeys to the Queen’s
whims and oversights—all men’s progress
subject to a careless sleeve. We think
we know her moods, read the signs,
taste change, but wait for instruction.
We are among the insects of the grasses,
our labors short-lived and forgotten
on this planet, with our real selves
but a mumble in the background.
We must learn to sing, find a voice
to harmonize with every changing
circumstance—a steady rhythm
we can dance to without stumbling.
No one of us can save the world
its pain, far greater than we care
to imagine, but before us each
new day, a place to put our hearts
and hands to work—opportunities
to improve the space in which we live—
a contagious caring running beneath
the outrageous currents we can’t control.
WPC(1)–“Forces of Nature”