The song struck a chord in me
'Volare,' to fly, in Italian
sung with passion and energy
giving lift to my spirit
until I knew I could
and I did -
freedom feels different
in every language.

Solitude 
arrived unbidden
with Sorrow in tow, 
retrieved from her nightly forays
amongst bony trees and sinewy shadows 
barefoot, no buttons or soles, 
just a pale gossamer gown,
holy and haunted
by too many naked dreams. 

Calling, calling, women rising
in circles, offering mirrors and reminders —

I see you, I know you are powerful, too.

We can no longer afford to be afraid,
to hide, to be invisible or silent
the consequences long expired,
as they thought we did, too —