Rainbows
A poem of liberation
when she turns around
her deference is gone
and a Russian woman
has smeared rainbows
across her tits but they
are not tits they are fairytales
each one smudged with
the allegory of all womankind
pointing up the middle finger
at things demure and proper
expected to flow out of
our dainty femininity or hard
lipped feminism not because
we need to be rebels but
so that she can dance
with the sun on her breasts
and hold every drop
of precious life on her
tongue then we scream
for her through her into her
if we can catch our breath
in the shockwave of her radiance
we scream in that way
of uncaging our own lions
her mouth open big enough
to amplify the collective roar
and she is Athena Kali Pele
guiding us to the full expansive
surface of ourselves or what
it is like to be so unabashedly
known by your own inner goddess
and a room full of wanting or held
in a woman’s soft hands
