She, she looks like moon light and wildfires
All mixed up in one
Sea swept sun set.
With salt under her fingernails
Saving sea glass amongst morsels of the wreckage
And placing them in unmarked, open top crates
Bringing light to what once could only seem broken.
She, she sounds like victory,
Beating the drum louder as the northern mist rolls in,
Calling the wanderers home.
The shipwrecked few still feeling their way around sandcastles but falling into sandpits,
The washed up misfits,
Lost toys with missing bits
And takes them all.
Because She, she knows
The sum is greater that it’s perfect parts
And at 3 am when I come looking for a hand,
She will give me an arm, a shoulder
A spine, to pull my head right back up
Enough so I can see the stars and taste twilight.
And after all this I? I will give you my voice,
When you’re too sore from screaming into the wind,
I will keep place.
Shouting out into the night because we didn’t get this far by staying quiet
Holding our breath
Or hiding in shadows.
I will say it again, and again, and again
Till it drips like venom from our tongues:
We are Women,
We are Warriors,
And we are doing just fine.