daughters of the moon,
daughters of the hills,
daughters of our grandmother’s
grandmother’s grandmothers,
it is too long
we have dwelled
in the house of men
fearing our power
would scare them,
letting our power scare us.
daughters of the earth,
love would never ask you
to be less than you are,
and if that is what’s being asked
then it is not love.
cast it off
like a garment
like a corset
like a skin
until all that is not you returns to dust
and you the living stand alive
on the river’s edge
pulsing with the perfect light you are
and have been
since before the trees were named
and the river tasted the sea.
daughters of blood and stars,
when love comes
as love will,
approach it as the temple it is.
time has waited for this perfect now,
crow and shout and dance on the hilltops –
in the moonlight,
in the rain,
on the shore of tomorrow
that only you have seen.
be celebrant and celebrated –
let the hard worn dust
of the temple floor
remember your name.
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