the blood of the women of my blood
stir under deep layers of earth
like cackling magma
churning through and by
like the arteries
of my flesh
moving
and burning
and exploding
like enraged volcanoes.

the words of the women of my blood
cool and harden--are dark and shining
like basalt or obsidian
we are the casual sort
something that shouldn't be confused
with softness
our tongues are tougher than pumice
and our mouths only shape
letters that chafe.

I am of fire like
my mothers before
me
pulsing
radiating.