Poem | For Holly

She stands a woman,

above all.

A woman graced with the soft power of nature,

blinking eyes of the wind,

a laugh of bird, and thunder

that does no frighten, but sounds of a reminder;

everything is still, and forever,

in motion.

Her emotion, a flood, a storm

fading to a rainbow and a revival of green,

forcing on the seasons, creating the bloom,

curating the change.

A woman of all others.

You look and see

the eyes of a Pankhurst,

the fragility of Plath, a beauty in that.

They join hands and sink into the holes,

the dimples, the cuts,

sisters sinking to the bones; a legacy of cement.

She taught herself that,

heal with a history of success stories,

sing herself to sleep with a lullaby

of the passions of women, past to present.

She stands a woman;

an out-held hand, a pinky out-stretched,

two rows of teeth and glimmering eyes,

a felt grace,

a force. a fuel.

She stands a woman,

she stands with power.