your flagstaff fingers bend
beneath the weight of wonder,
silver striving against the black
of your hair
and all your words are dust
to be licked from your rouge-caked lips.
folding hours into paper cranes
and hoarding seconds like pennies
massaging somedays into your face
with the hope that tomorrow will be real at last.
Woman, breathing winters,
you’ve hidden your strength for so long,
only fire can find it, now.
Scatter your maybes like ashes to the wind,
throw the magazines from your hair,
flex the muscles you forgot you had.
Woman, remember your thundering voice
and your granite bones.
Shake off your camera face
and be Gaia once again.