O My Sisters (a poem)

What can I share with you

O, My Sisters

That will not

            Make your eyes roll

            Make your jaw drop

            Make your face sour

            Make your tongue click

We walk together

O, My Sisters

But we are not

            Carrying the same toolbox

            Mapping the same territory

            Singing the same song

            Learning the same lesson

I cross your paths like a stray black cat

O, My Sisters

My Path is

            Not wide. Narrow, it snakes through the swamp

            Not  level. Steep, it scales the stony crag

            Not paved. Faint, it drifts across the desert.

            Not marked. Uncharted, it becomes wilderness

Perhaps I am just contrary

O, My Sisters,

For I am not

            A maiden bearing bright ideals

            A mother sheltering her growing brood

            A matriarch guiding generations

            Nor even a crone cawing her wisdom

We meet to learn and to teach

O, My Sisters,

Of what shall I speak, and what not?

            Shall I wear my cloak of motley colors?

            Shall I sing my weary blues and bump and grind?

            Shall I recite the lessons etched with tears on my soul?

            Shall I reveal my sacred Self?

My path chose me

O, My Sisters,

As yours have chosen you,

Not to compare shoes but to walk in them

Not to score points, but to award them

Not to pigeonhole, but to climb out of our boxes

Not to seek just the common thread, but to see the tapestry

Together,

O, My Sisters.