Black Sheep

The unshed tears of my mother

and her mother,

and those of her mother before her –

I will use them as water

so that new branches might grow

from this ancient

and strong,

but wounded, tree.

And their unexplored depths

will be my home,

the places they were warned not to tread,

for the way was too steep,

too dark,

too wild

for a woman to explore.

A woman,

whose very essence is as those places.

The darkness of the womb.

The wildness of the heart.

The steepness of the climb

from the silt to the berries,

from the muck to the parsley,

the swamplands to the mangroves,

from the earth to the skies.

In that darkness they were taught to fear,

I will carry their tears.

And from that place

together we will rise,

to new heights and greater harvests

than ever had been permitted before.

©️ Cristen Writes