Where She Stands in Relation to the Sun
Witness the wind
whisper secrets
every woman knows—
where she stands
in relation to the sun,
or the shadow edge
of every daydream
fear failed to demolish.
The bold brushstrokes
of humanity’s wreckage.
The ravaging winds
didn’t blow her away,
at least not yet.
When her strength
supersedes every rock,
even the entire sea
can’t knock her down.
A wisp of wind
eclipsing the edge
of grief—
dead mothers.
Poets speak of suffering
sweeter than sorrow.
And if standing on a rock,
overlooking the wide sky,
lamenting
starts to sound like a rant,
so be it.
She is every scream,
every sigh,
split by asphalt
and light.
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