When the wind shifts direction
How powerless we are
When the sky itself dips down from the heavens
Tracing circles in the sand
We flee and dash and hide, our powers lay prostrate
When mother decides to pay us attention
All our masterfully built lives
Left a kindling matchstick reminder of our place
When with a tigers roar the doors burst open
And the roof caves in
When windows shatter and the bow breaks
It’s then that the cradle falls
The tears and anger and frustration
Are merely an infants cry to a neutral woman
“Live or die”, she says
“But mind my temperament, children
Of me you were born and to me will you return
I’ll cradle you close or crush your spine
For all it takes
All it really takes
is a flick of my wrist and a shift in the wind.”
I love wind. I might be one of the few women who cares less about her hairstyle than about feeling the wind in her face. Thanks for these words. 🙂
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