supported by green
i cast off my cane
“Write”, you said … so write I must. But after such silence, the words creak and groan in my head and will not be tamed.
We were strong women, trapped in uncooperative bodies. We were sensitive women, sometimes stung into silence.
By day our doubts sparkled with razor scales; by night our doubts stalked us on cotton-ball feet.
You were sister and sage at the same time.
You said the vortex was opening under your feet.
I could not help you.
I grieve your passing, but honor your choice as I honor your words.
“Write,” you said. Your voice was soft … but urgent.
When the words still would not come, I went to the woods with my cane. And in the wind I heard your beloved ocean.
the wind-tossed hemlocks