Here

By Cheryl Marie Wade

There is a woman here middle-aged in her prime with long legs and a short fuse A woman who loves to write poems and dance I have rhythm in the marrow laughter, too I love to laugh and laugh

There is a woman here who has scars visible and otherwise more than you’d want to know more than I want to count A woman who believes in magic I long for magic I love stones before they’re polished I can picture Springsteen’s thighs

There is a woman here with a stiff back and incredible flexibility who tells lies for protection the truth for survival who sits in a chair on wheels and hausel sacks of self-doubt as if she were a stevedore A woman who survives to dream dreams

I braid hair in my dreams

I have electric hair and need to be loved soft soft lips and hate to be loved eyes shadowed by memory and want to be loved full round hips and I’m afraid to be loved I love so easily

There is a woman here full of colors A survivor who survives to be a woman here