For the Women I See in the Morning

There is something magical about women,
some forgotten power that has nothing to do with our hips, or lips
something nothing to do with our bodies themselves, only what they house.
There’s always something lingering just beyond the surface and I can’t put it into the right words, but I know you’ve seen it.

A look in the eyes of a woman that stops you dead
The temperature change when she enters the room
How you can feel your heartbeat quicken and then slow
Like she has terrified you and brought you calm all at once
Women have that..

When you look into the eyes of another woman
You don’t always see her eyes
Some women overflow from their pores like wandering spirits
Some women smell like kindness and others of brutality
Yet still, comfort
Some dark wholesome destiny feeling
Like you are supposed to get lost in her.

But, I can never quite feel that power in myself:
I always feel small in the presence of women made of steel
Too large in the room of women made from quiet mystery
A disturbance of the calm, as if I have somehow brought chaos

And I love women!

I have found comfort and love and my very own soul in their kitchens,
In their living rooms
on their floors
in their shoulders.
I have known no love so great as that of sisterhood-
the souls of our kin, of blood or will, tied together,
little girls who never fear anything when they stand beside each other.
Women build love between us like bridges from place to place-
Patch each other together with pieces of ourselves.

So I look for that woman in me-
A subtle piece of the universe that calls out to others,
A bitter bridge made stronger for the suffering the women who walk upon it
have endured

I want to be the woman I see in the street every morning-
Smelling of jasmine,
Of mistaken identity,
Of promises that are never broken
and dawns over mountaintops
Feeling like kin, somehow,


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