Picture this… Mothers and Daughters
Their procreative powers celebrated and valued
Their minds and voices, acknowledged and revered
— whether child-bearing, child-rearing, bread-winning, globe-setting or game-changing.
Women, not relegated to house and home, but women, free to regulate themselves.
Free to roam.
It could happen. It still could.
Picture so many women, Mothers and Daughters,
set to tell their stories. Mothers and Daughters
with stories like mine and hers and theirs.
Stories ready to be sung out, loud and proud.
Ready to upset the maelstrom of men and their spheres of control,
their spears of control,
Women set to tell their stories unhobbled by laws, unhanged with stigma, unsacrificed on altars, no longer denigrated and diminished.
Picture Mothers and Daughters unlabeled.
Unlabeled as virgins, ladies, cock-teases, cougars, sluts, spinsters, trophy wives, whores, hags. Frigid or loose. Nasty or pure.
Unlabeled. Unhysterical, Unfat, Unskinny, Unugly, Unhot.
Unused and Unabused.
But no longer UnSung. Singing so many stories.
It could happen. It will.
That’s where me and my kind come in. The writers, the poets, the instigators.
We play a fundamental role in the histories of Her Stories.
We keep the home fires burning,
Fostering and fueling far more than fires in hearths.
Feeding fires in hearts.
Encouraging stargazing, fire eating, and drops of Jupiter in our hair.
It’s in our dna, and has been, since the wheel first whetted the knife. Caves first oxidized hands.
And we’ll keep doing it until the reach of our arms and the span of our hips, and the stride of our steps no longer fits the limits of their boxes.
Until our potential is so great, vibrates so powerfully, wells and swells so phenomenally, that their spheres all burst and new worlds are all birthed, new galaxies unfold…
And we all find a place.
Our place –
– for ourselves and our daughters.
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