Women Marching

(I am somewhat indisposed, recovering from radiation and chemotherapy treatments, and when women marched in Washington and throughout the country and world I could only watch on C-Span. But in the course of that day I became aware of that same woman power present in Washington also present in my somewhat isolated life. So I wrote this, a poem reflecting on woman power as experienced by someone who has been loved by women who could otherwise have been occupied.  It's not very good, it is self serving in its own ego way (but ain't that the way of poems), and it speaks only to the power of love. Still, as Che Guevara suggested,

“At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. It is impossible to think of a genuine revolutionary lacking this quality.” 

So, to the end that the Women's March was guided by great feelings of love, here is the poem.)

WOMEN marching

Thousands on thousands:

The power of WOMEN marching

Is real,

As real as it gets.

The power of WOMEN marching

Is no surprise to me,

For I have seen WOMEN

Singularly engaged in witness,

Protest and support,

Seen WOMEN marching

in times of small daily strife,

seen WOMEN marching

in the hard times of life.

I am close to WOMEN,

WOMEN marching in my life.

I know whereof I speak.

EVIDENCE

Here:

SHE has marched for years,

And I with her.

SHE stood in silence against the war

And I with her.

SHE sits by my bedside in quiet

While I am visited by demons.

SHE marches through my pity

And my fears,

SHE brings redemption and release.

There:

SHE has gotten old,

As have I.

SHE writes from Maryland

To tell me that love is still there

And real.

SHE reaches into our past.

SHE remembers us, younger,

Sitting in the sand.

SHE and I shared magic smoke,

SHE remembers my swearing

there were tanks coming over

the waves and dunes.

SHE laughs now,

Marching through

Our little passions.

SHE carries a flag

Of love and laughter.

How can I not be young again,

Marching with her?

Everywhere:

SHE is my alter ego,

My light in darkness,

SHE marches tonight

Through my loneness and fear.

I texted her to phone,

I needed her voice.

We spoke.

SHE wrote later

“The weird days will pass

and soon they will be

just far far away memories!

So far that you could swear

they are not yours.”

SHE marched, this daughter mine,

Into my heart

To stay.

CONCLUSION

So I know:

There are strong WOMEN marching,

In the thousands on Washington’s fields,

And in my life, on my streets,

And the power of those WOMEN

Is as real as it gets.

The power of these WOMEN marching

Surprises only those

Who have refused to get close

To WOMEN,

Who tremble only in fear

At the actions of WOMEN

Trampling out the vintage

Where the grapes of wrath are stored.

For the rest of us,

Close to this blinding

WOMAN force,

Who have received grace on grace,

And sometimes great correctives,

Of equal WOMAN force,

We call out in solidarity

And thanksgiving,

March on! March on!