my arrival was cloaked in silence
more like a wake than a birth...
there was praying
wringing of hands...
i was early but
i had to belong
ruler of murky and
destined to duality,
the prayer became protection
prenatal apprehension an excuse for fierce independence
"no need to worry...i am here."
hands that rubbed themselves raw
in anticipated grief
were rarely turned to me in anger
but fed/held/clothed me
relearned priestess rites thru
...the universe has to
make up for our deletions;
denied rites of passage become
creeping into unicorn wallpapered bedrooms...
lived life in books and magazines
...it was like the written word
was never lost to me
my womb is lined with
sumerian script and
hieroglyphs they haven't uncovered on earth yet...
if they could decipher menstruation,
they'd find many women
are actually treasure maps.
goddess heritage my birthright
not because i'm african--but because i remember.
willfully refusing amnesia
in the face of babylon.