“There’s a river of birds in migration,
a nation of women with wings…”
I sing in my mind, in my heart,
I sing when I’m a part of
Women Writing (for) a Change
and when I’m apart from it.
I sing when I’m the turtle that I am,
plodding along, grounded,
bound for the next bend in the creek,
the next tear on my cheek,
the next time I eat my own words
that could’ve been more carefully served.

But hey! Look at me!
Yes! Turtle that I am!
Inspired!
Fired up by the tree of life—
the circle of women and writers
and dreams in my own life!
Throw me a sky hook!
Watch me fly!

I climb out of (to the top of!)
this comfortable, familiar,
predetermined shell,
brave and bare-chested
with a vested interest
in my own survival
and the survival of women’s voices.

I grab hold of stories and songs,
poems and prayers
and those soul-shaking,
heartbreaking,
mind-waking keenings.
I ride the never-ending current
of words set free—
voices ancient and modern,
published, unpublished,
and those still incubating,
throbbing, waiting
for just the right moment to hatch.

I join strong women flying high—
a dense, impenetrable flock
of them, of us!
Spreading our truth-telling wings,
pointing out the where,
the when, the why of being:
over there,
right here,
way back then,
now,
because!

“There’s a river of birds in migration,
a nation of women with wings!”

Glenda Breeden for The Poplar Grove Muse
(Soul Collage)