mathbabe

Sometimes the night falls
and I fall with it, those
inner reefs no match
for the outer currents.

Sometimes the day comes
and I’m not ready, the
sunlight streaming, too
binding for a dip in the dark.

Sometimes the rain breaks,
pouring down, washing me
out down the street past storefronts
of fruit, where my boys linger.

This is how I interact with the world,
fully engaged, and a bit unable to
loosen the harness.

This is how I make peace with the world,
too, the personal battles played out against
the ebb and flow of greater forces.

For I am a force to be reckoned with. Know that.
But even gravity finds its match in
nothingness.

by Manya Raman Sundström
For Cathy O’Neil, whom I barely met
Umeå, Nov. 7, 2010

—————————————-

This Wind

This wind
is a woman
no doubt.

She’s soft as silk,
then bold and wild.
She scolds and sulks,
bedraggles,
beguiles.

She’s the kind of wind
the palm trees bow down to:
regal, feral,
revered,
reviled.

This wind
is a flamenco temptress
staccato tempest,
her temper
flares

and subsides.
She rewards with a caress
neither tender
nor mild.

This wind
is an enraged mother,
a heart breaker,
a scorned lover, yes
but, Sister!

She’s a rabble rousing
trouble making
jailbreaker
in a dress.

She’ll rattle the gates
drum at the door
flirt with the warden
if that’s what it takes.

Freedom! my child,
Freedom! she moans.
She’s howling for you:

Woman to woman.

By Becky Jaffe
Inspired by tonight’s blustery wind, and by the kick-ass women in my life (that’s you!)
Nov. 2, 2011