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CMBurgessPoems
They hate that we stop clinging, try to surgically glue us back to branches that are no longer our home We fall, provoking, for maidens and mothers are coming and we must cede, reach for destined roots, furrow down like our etchings this time round Our bones are thin whispers at every trunk storing our emerging crone song. We are crushed as our wrinkles are blown up, gushing wisdom in ruby, copper and gold We are pushed into mounds echoing every impersonal violence to our subjected younger bodies Well, witch please I demand my wrinkles be removed from the firing line of instant disposal, be allowed to mark out some path for some sisters IF they want it and if they want it ONLY
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Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 6:18 AM UTC
You Don't Decide If I Get To Be Winter
They hate that we stop clinging, try to surgically glue us back to branches that are no longer our home We fall, provoking, for maidens and mothers are coming and we must cede, reach for destined roots, furrow down like our etchings this time round Our bones are thin whispers at every trunk storing our emerging crone song. We are crushed as our wrinkles are blown up, gushing wisdom in ruby, copper and gold We are pushed into mounds echoing every impersonal violence to our subjected younger bodies Well, witch please I demand my wrinkles be removed from the firing line of instant disposal, be allowed to mark out some path for some sisters IF they want it and if they want it ONLY
Witch please! Let women age into their wisdom and let the leaves lay where they please.
#feminism#witches#nature
Written by
CMBurgess
Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 6:18 AM UTC
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