If the water is never silent

If  the water is never silent, why should I be?

I, the woman who is wild and savage and ever changing.

I, the mother of Nature, the mother of children, of the world.

I, who cannot be tamed at the hands of man.

You can try to forecast, to predict what will happen, but I change in an instant.

My storms are incomprehensible, wreaking havoc on villages, cities, countries.

You will never put a chain around my neck or calm my winds – unless I allow you to.

If the wind may screech and howl at the doors and windows, so might I! And who are you to call the words I speak “hysterical”?

If I mourn for loss and if I become joyous in health and growth, who are you to call me over-emotional?

If your sirens, engines, your pollution, your garbage overpower my peace and quiet, my fragile silence, who are you to condemn my anger?

If you push on my  land, my body, who are you to stop my retaliation?

If you pull my weeds and pierce my garden with your shovel, uninvited, I do not want what grows there!

Who are you to say I cannot pluck the flowers I nurture?

For it is from my body that all life flows. I birth nations, forests, clouds.  I quench the fires you start – in order to save you.

And yet you ebb my tides and curse the life I breathe.

You dig up my dirt then pour concrete on it and walk over me regardless of my indignation.

Who are you to call this my “pride” when it could only be hurt.

Who are you to say I’ve thrived too long since you’ve built your concrete jungle and then locked me at home?

Who are you to ask I remain silent…

When the wind is ever-rustling, and the water ever-flowing, and my pen ever-writing.

Who are you to call yourself greater and call me less than?

Was it not I that first welcomed you into my arms and sheltered you?  You pretended to help me up after the fall, little did I know you’d tell everyone it was my own fault.

Who are you to say you are my master when I already have One?

It is not man.  Man will never control this wildness, this wilderness which is my breast, rational when everything is not, steady when it needs to be:

Mother of Nature and of men.

Who are you to say, I am female?

When I say, I am Woman.

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