By Lisa Schrader
International Day of the Woman, March 8, 2017

Today and everyday,
I bow to the feminine
in all her unique speak,
ones in recovery or covered up
peeking out, quietly covertly resisting,
raven black and blues singing
mamas tearing open
to give love

Shedding skin, keening her sight,
resting in sweet release,
her belly soft on naked ground
transmuting, composting, deconstructing
shit to high shine and back to dark fertile

“She changes everything she touches,
and everything she touches changes.”

Art making, bread baking,
boardroom bad-assing
bodacious bitch-slapping.
Not afraid to make waves,
sing her siren song,
spin a tale or a web,
slide into home
on her wild wings of prayer.

Lover lay down with me
passionate pussy power pulsing
pissed off with pretty pleasing
panting with pleasure.
Yoni moaning her meaning
to the holy grail
being given.

Ecstatic activist, she will
speak up, speak out,
match the funds, march the streets,
write the letters and right the wrongs,
feel the pain and follow the pleasure,
real the pleasure and true the pain.

Inside the circle, cycle, sphere
round and round we go
where we stop nobody owns
our love.
All one wheel
of wax and wane
moon woman who bleeds but never dies
woman weaving, threading red, golden webbing,
mandala making, memory keeping
linking and connecting
outside of any becausing.

Here to remind the wind of the wounded mind
that it was never designed to operate solo alone,
dictating orders from headquarters above
only one quarter after all
of the cardinal compass.
Hail to the Air of Intellect in right relation to
body of earth,
water of feeling flowing
and spark of soul fire,
with liberty and Mother of us All
we bow to you
and in our bodies feel your nectar
melting down
into the belly of all creation,
to nourish our flawed gestures, incomplete offerings, dreams of heaven on earth and droughts of faith
with your sacred soup and sap,
blessing us:
sleep little one sleep, warm and safe and seen
and with the rising sun again
begin anew, all is truly well.