We Can Only Know What We Can

In Her Bottled Up Is A Woman Peppery As Curry, A Yam Of A Woman Of Butter And Brass.

I Will Choose What Enters Me, What Becomes Flesh Of My Flesh. Without Choice, No Politics, No Ethics Lives. I Am Not Your Cornfield, Not Your Uranium Mine, Not Your Calf For Fattening, Not Your Cow For Milking. You May Not Use Me As Your Factory. Priests And Legislators Do Not Hold Shares In My Womb Or My Mind. If I Give It To You, I Want It Back. My Life Is A Non-negotiable Demand.

Praise Our Choices, Sister, For Each Doorway Open To Us Was Taken By Squads Of Fighting Women Who Paid Years Of Trouble And Struggle, Who Paid Their Wombs, Their Sleep, Their Lives That We Might Walk Through These Gates Upright. Doorways Are Sacred To Women For We Are The Doorways Of Life And We Must Choose What Comes In And What Goes Out. Freedom Is Our Real Abundance.

Learning To Love Differently Is Hard, Love With The Hands Wide Open, Love With The Doors Banging On Their Hinges, The Cupboard Unlocked, The Windroaring And Whimpering In The Rooms.

Art Is A Game Only If You Playat It, A Mirror That Reflects From The Inside Out.