Men have no respect for the savagery coming next

They have no clue when, what time

They are not used to counting 

                            Days, weeks, + 28, divided by four, holidays, graduation

It’s a pity because

We can all feel it

The Change–

The shift, awakening, the call to action … to war, to war.

This bubbling up and welling over

Ready to regurgitate after holding it

all 

for too long.

Time has been up.

At the office. On a date. At the bodega. In the parking lot. At home.

Even after we create a home

A place to grow their heads. A place to surrender. A place to practice mercy:

They desecrate, destroy and distort it.

Time is up.

Mother Earth has felt the weight and burden

The fury and shame that comes with being scorned

Black and blue.

They declare another war over Her body.

The same body who brought them here and makes a blood sacrifice every moon. 

(She’s counting again)

Every 28 days since age 9

She’s been offering my blood as sacrifice for this damned colony

And what come of it?

Her fury is wrapped in mine and we’ve been counting

                            Days, weeks, + 28, divided by four, menstruation, menopause

They may shoot daily but they have no idea what eruption is coming

Our exhaustion has stewed into a thick, evenly-baked, fiery rage.

Cut our claws, control our bodies, take take take and take

All because you did not / can not create 

without the Mother.

And my

isn’t it a shame, they do not see

Her daughters’ heaviest burden is to learn how to skillfully

unforgive.

May the wind be at your backs.