O mother how I grieve you. Survivor of a thousand
Summers, you take your place in the song
Of mothers long past. You are not alone there,
O wise one, your mother, and her mother
Have taken your hand and lead you in to a dream.
A dream where I can not follow.

I think of Otrera the warrior queen, of wives
beaten down only to arise as phoenixes.
O brave Amazon, your legacy lives on in Hippolyta and
Hermia, your wild daughters becoming women.

Beyond her is Jael, O wife of a Kenite, and the
Mutilated corpse of Sisera, the foolish king
Who thought her weak. Your blood waters the
Dust, your handsome face cracked right through
By her mighty blow. O great king, will you
Scorn her femininity now?

When I am weary, I shall think of Elizabeth,
A queen who sunk an armada and reformed
The churches with a single order. Where is
Your husband? You have no need of him.

They are joined by Boudica and
Her wild head of curls. I believe you
Will be good friends O warrior of
Sleepless nights. For you have both
Spat in the eyes of men and defied your
Empires for the sake of freedom.

Sylvia holds your hand tenderly now,
O mother of my youth. Her torment has
Passed now, and so will yours too. For
A dream is too ethereal a place for scars.

I wondered if you would be afraid
When you took your place among the
Mothers of the ancients, and yet time has
Showed me a picture of you, holding court
Amongst them with your steaming *** of
Lady Grey. Graceful as a queen.

Your children who live on in this world
Will remember you. O wise one,
You eat men like air. And like a
Phoenix I will become you.