There’s a bridge to cross

The women who take charge,
On bended knee reciting their prayers
Include many.
The women who take charge,
With their hips swirling,
Rhythmically, do not come from afar.
They are always here.
The women who pray,
Dance too – differently or not ;
Both women excite charge.
In this life,
Flowers, we became labeled
To be picked for consumption.
Then later,
We wade through the muck,
Holding our gowns and hoisting our pants,.
Then later,
We threw our lockets to the sky
Exclaiming that our words must float to heaven and back.
Women,
Are we not the dance before intermission?
Women,
Are we not the murmur before the cry?

And then later on the muck,
The lily and reeds.
The plethora of gardens now plentiful,
We here,
Hear ourselves be.

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