I know women
who are tall women,
even while sleeping
their spirits rise to the occasion;
I know women
with mountainous cheekbones
that serve as steeples
for the light of her eyes
and the history she’s never seen,
I’ve sensed that Nefertiti
might be immortal;
Women
as dark as tropical forests,
as soft as whispers,
as light as summer rain,
and as colorful as intimacy,
I know mosaic women;
I know women
who love for the sake of loving
and being loved,
hearts and honey melting,
and children being born;
I know women
who don’t contain their femininity
in the cross of the legs
and “no”
when they mean “Yes!”
Rather, it is expressed
in the lull of contemplation,
and the finale of decisiveness;
Women
who’ve kissed the wounds of men
who’ve fought on her behalf,
pushing smiles in front of tears;
I know women
who’ve used a .45
when it was absolutely necessary,
a German luger
when it called for being revolutionary,
I know warrior women;
I know women
with big, thick-assed muscles in her thighs
from marching
20 miles to racist schools,
and 40 miles to storefront churches
where sanctified saints
heal engraved wounds,
building pyramids of hope
as she travels;
Women
who dance at funerals
and cry the bugles of patience’ end
at weddings and graduations;
These sisters choose
the men they want,
groove the men they want,
they want love,
I know women;
Whose spindly fingers
have crocheted potholders,
picnics, and national treaties;
Women
who’ve mined barren hopes
for an ounce of indication
that tomorrow
might be better than today;
I know
I know these women
who’ve taught me
what it means
to be a WOMAN!
Bio:
Quinita Edmonia Good is an award-winning journalist and meticulous academic editor. She is a long-time Detroit resident and the mother of one son. Quinita can be found at qwrites.weebly.com.
