184/365: I Am the Old Earth
The following poem is written as a reflection on the sixth anniversary of my hysterectomy following cervical cancer.
that had stripped out peace and physical civility,
for twenty-one years
was dismantled and collected,
and all the sad comfort people extended
about being barren and less female
I was not a whole thing then.
I was the beginning of a thing,
and I became something on its way.
is the tree that grows out of hard rock
and the tributary that breaks through old earth.
Freedom won't eat out of your hand.
It is hard to have and harder to stay.
I could be a giant
now the hard rock had been cleft.
I could be a giant.