I am woman.
All round belly, heavy breasts, and thick thighs.
All womb, and ovaries, and fallopian tubes, and mammary glands,
vagina, clitoris, lips.
My body can make babies, grow them from scratch,
in an ancient alchemy of saltwater, crimson blood, and love,
a planet unto itself.
My body is rhythmic like the moon, knows how to swell and soften at all the right moments,
moves as the mountains do,
rising up and crumbling down again.
They say the revolution will be led by a woman.
And they are right, but only in part.
The revolution will be led by a woman, but not just one.
It will be led by lots of women, by all the women,
because we women, we know the world works in the circle way,
in partnerships, and groups, and communities,
We women know that there is wisdom in working together,
great power in numbers,
flocks of starlings, dipping and diving in dance,
blotting out the sky.
The culture of destruction wants us women to hate ourselves, hate each other. They poison us with advertising and lies.
They want us to hate each other, because they know that weakens us,
makes us sick, and separate, and sad. They are afraid of what happens when we join together, in the old ways, hand in hand, united.
They are afraid that we will remember our rightful place in the world, and that we’ll want it back.
Well, guess what?
We’ve never forgotten, and now the time has come. To gather together, to rise up, and fight.
To take back our world.
The stakes are high, the lines are drawn.
No longer will we stay quiet as they poison our water, air, food, and land. No longer will we look away as they target our children with their shiny gadgets and plastic toys. No longer will we allow them to destroy our families with their false Gods and slick advertisements. No longer will they make us hate ourselves. No longer will they make us hate each other.
Let us wipe the chemical color from our lips, and greet the dawn with fresh faces.
Let us tear their heels from our feet and feel the bare earth soft under our toes.
Let us shed the clothes meant to lift, tuck, squeeze, and contain. Shed the bras strapped tight across our chests like chains, let our bodies be free and unrestricted in their movements.
Let us smash our mirrors in the streets and recognize ourselves from the inside out,
Let us wear feathers in our hair, blue of the jay, red of the cardinal, black of the crow,
and weave bones into our braids,
let us paint our skin with the juice of the brightest berries, and midnight black of charcoal.
Let us leave our jobs and learn, how to find the plants and animals, how to turn them into food, how to make music with our hands and hearts, how to feed our babies at our breasts, and heal everything so it’s whole again.
Let us plunge our hands into the blackest soil and weep,
so the seeds might grow.
Let us build up the home fires and stand like beacons in the night.
Let us wail, loud and hard with heartbreak,
and let our wails be war cries,
the battle cry of the breasted ones.
Let us take up arms,
with the ones we love,
circle up and stand united.
Let us tear down the cities and plant forests in their place,
watch our children play under the sun on the ruins and wreckage.
Let us grow fierce and strong,
let us wear knives on our thighs and buckskin on our breasts.
Let us be led by warriors,
Thank you for listening,