by Sarah Davis
You can find this poem in the current herstory issue of wom*news!
She was born from earth,
amongst the reeds and rushes.
The stifled cries of her beginning
and the perplexity of her worth.
She is made from mud and sticks,
and leaves, and the wind that pushes
its way around the being’s new birth
and sighs and speaks of what is to come.
She was born from fire,
the deep essence of her soul.
The painfulness of her identity burns
in the discovery of an unknown desire.
Yet the wind stirs up the flames,
and throws embers into the night,
and reignites all that will transpire,
for the tears she sheds are her undoing.
She was born from stone,
as the same wind that carries on,
and shares tales of what she is
and isn’t, and how little she has grown
in the eyes of the mighty,
in the eyes of the weak,
and in the eyes of her own,
as even stone can break to the ground.
She was born from air,
for a moment she is one with the wind,
flying blindly amongst sky,
a stormy cloud, a sheet of rain, swept elsewhere.
For a time she exists, anywhere.
For a time there is silence,
in that moment she is bare,
and there is completeness after all.
She returns to earth, she is dust,
all that she is, all that she was, she is no longer.
But she is more than mud and sticks and leaves,
She is less than wind, her being is the purest
She grows into the ground as resonant as stone,
Burning as hot as fire, as light as the air
She is the mother, her daughter, your child who is solaced
She is the creator, a creation, a flower – a woman.
~ Sarah Davis