You pick up your pen
nightly
to get off your chest what lies on it
heavy like a stone
and you write
inch by inch
bit by bit
what needs to be written down
of all the horrors your eyes have witnessed
all the beauty that you remember
your hand shakes
pouring ink all over your page
and yet you get all the numbers right
all the names and ancient signs
You pick up your pen again this night
tonight
and you write honouring all ancient women' names
in the soft moonlit room
You put down your pen
out of breath and sweat pearling down your chest
knowing
you wrote
another night
against all odds
for the life of them