Opened the blinds
and the men were still here.
A breeze caught my skirt
but did not catch a violent eye.
I turned to my neighbor
and our memories began to cry.
We poured them into a cup and offered them
to the land
hoping that our grievances would not wake
a hungry man.
But as the garden bloomed upon swallowing
our grief
we looked down at the soil
for the soil
was washing our feet.
And the trees stretched their necks as our own backs
had risen.
They looked to us and said,
You are the us we have envisioned.
For if all the women feel safe, then we
feel safe, too.
No more chopping down at the neck and using us for the fruit.
No more carving into the bark and blaming us for the root.
If Native women are heard then the earth is heard, too.
We used to inhale air that was clogged in untruth.
But if all of you breathe life then we breathe life, too.
And as the sun began to set and make way
for the moon’s night
we looked down at a loving people alive
by their own light.
The children sung songs of seeing themselves
full.
They listened to tales of humans who thought
like fools
from listening
to hungry men, always dressed as wolves
in a world that thought wolves was a synonym for flee
in a world that rather google search the synonym for free
in a world that caged women as if women were not the key, we
had to believe in a new way to dream, we
had to
wake up, wake up, and see
every and all of each woman
for each breathes
us life.
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