The Visitation-Among Women by Rhonda Melanson

Two women, branded crone and slut,

our commonality our hung baskets

of surprise fruit each in different phases

of ripeness. I speak. Hushed, but fierce:

brilliant words about justice,

about coiled rainbows within tight spaces,

how they’ll unfurl band by band

how every balled up woman

will witness these colours of resistance

even as we pound, pound from within

our arks, one by one, drumming

on planks an incantation for fresh rain.

She grabs my hand, pulls it

to her taut belly.

Commands me to feel the sandstorm.

Cause grains are gonna fly, baby!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.