It is said that life and death are in the power
of the tongue.
This is true.
But what about our hands?
I was arrested by the thought of what
my hands-
a woman’s hands
do.
We garden, we vote,
we bake, we care for children
with no help from state tax credits
that would raise us above the poverty line.
We turn pages of books
to fill our minds with the knowledge
that we are our bodies and we are
more than our bodies.
We clap along to music
knowing the rhythm of justice
may never be for us.
But above all, we hold each other’s hands.
When a historic moment turns into
a movement
we raise our fists-
not to throw punches,
but to show solidarity.
Solidarity in the never-ending
stream of women rising
throughout history.
Carving into the granite rocks
we fill each crevice
with refreshing, cool water.
May we each dip our hands into this
stream
and drink deeply
fully knowing we will never dry up
because we will never give up.