Inklings

Photo by Ries Bosch on Unsplash

When words were arrows I would unleash a poem from my bow into the forest of flattened out trees.

When words were darts you dipped them in poison and launched them our way daily leaving us staggering and depleted.

We were beautiful all along but your sharp tongue impaled our longing leaving it hanging like a flailing fish out of water.

My quiver was full and abundantly laden and joyous were my choices as I danced in the glade of my becoming.

But you ignored our beauty, you walked the line alert for infringement of which there were many.

Just being a girl was an infringement – what about the camps and the polished shoes and the neatly lined uniform and tucked sheets? What of this they will not have it.

Our chaos drove you mad.

Another dart then, or how about the steady hand, the fist, to put an end to this living evidence of joy. We were drained of our blood as you danced with your cape of stories and enchantments.

But the seed sprouted roots first and continued to grow strong for its neglect, I watered it with my tears which flowed inwardly, secretly in the dark.

No more arrows for me, no more darts for you.

Only waves washing the shore of forgetfulness.

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This poem began in a writing circle for women that I facilitate. We meet around each full moon. We write from our bodies. And I write along too. Last circle I showed a bunch of dipping pens that I inherited from my father, as part of a bigger collection of fountain pens and biros from a time before keyboards. The poem that emerged used the metaphor of the pens as arrows or darts and then flowers to evoke my relationship with words.

I tried to wrestle the poem into submission, and then mislaid it.

But something stirred this morning arising from my new interest in ‘hydro-feminism’ a subject that lures me in, being a lover of water. And I think it was the sound of the water that summoned my fingers to the keys.

Sometimes we need to let the words have their own way.

But I am grateful for each and very woman who brought their gifts and continue to do so. And the pens opened a door.

If you want to write from your body come and join us - our next circle is in April.