Sisterhood

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I wrote two poems in Intro to Creative Writing.  They were torture.  I hadn’t written a poem since my elementary Roses are red collection.

Writing poetry and reading them before peers to be workshopped, well that was terrifying.  But I survived.  Now I’m taking the next step of faith.  Sharing with you.  My hands are trembling across these keys.  They want to run away and hide.  I’m fighting to hold them steady.

I don’t understand my fear of poetry.  Maybe it’s the memories of having to ‘sing-song’ them before my high school peers.  Yes, that dates me.  Poetry is so different now.  Rhyming is out.  Raw is in.  Oh! That’s the root of my fear.  Poems concretely reveal the inner soul.  The sole reason I’m avoiding the next poetry class.

Our assignment was to write a poem with repetition.  I wrote about Sisterhood.  I wrote about all the sisters in Christ who have shared their stories with me.  There’s a piece of me in here too.

Here I Am

There I was submerged in the womb, planted by paternal seed, fed from maternal veins; too late to be aborted.

There I was surviving within four walls and a picket fence.  One parent caressed my face; the other turned his face away.

There I was stuck in the middle.  I hid under the wing of one sister while exposed in my lies by the other.

There I was in the back row of student desks.  I rode a lopsided seesaw, cheered from the sidelines until I walked graduation’s plank.

Here I am healed, covered in the balms of grace.

I am a virgin bride in white who once wore a scarlet letter.

I am a warrior with a sword who once was a prisoner of war.

I am an opera’s aria, a wave’s white crest, a golden thread woven in tapestry.

I am a victor in armor who once was a victim in a pit.

I am an heir to a kingdom, a child of the King, chosen from among billions.

Why am I where I am?

I am proof.  I prove my life has purpose.  I prove a caterpillar becomes a butterfly.  I prove fire purifies gold.

I prove God exists.

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