My mother handed me power with a crown,
regal and beautiful.
She birthed me—
breech, rounded head.
I became unstuck and in the world all at once.

She slid me courage with my grandmother's pearl-handled revolver,
slapping me conscious,
a stark look at the world men built.
Deliberate moves, eye contact,
teeth bared.

Memories passed through a bleeding heart.
The women before us cut off their right ******* like Amazons—
gashes of emotion she couldn't stop.
I stopped.

I cannot be shook or unmade,
fired with clay and star metals.
Steady, steady stayed.
I bend with the wind.

The queens in my blood are at home in me.
I swoop down, landing with both feet.
There is fire in my ground.