I feel like home to me. I feel like the grandmother. The one that tisks you away from cruel distractions, but laughs full belly laughs with you. I am the one that holds old songs, I am the rough skinned leathery woman who smokes weed to forget and wails for those she lost.
I dream of you, I sink my feet into soil and do the hard work. I stir the pot at 3am and greet the sun with my toothless smile full of gratitude and love for myself and those around me. I am bigger than life yet can still fade into the background. I know when each is needed.
The poplars shimmy behind me like ancestors cheering us on. The winds pick up when I need to pay attention. I eat dessert in bed but make children sit through hard conversations. I sit vigil but give my friends a good smack to knock them back to centre. I push my stiff back forward to protect you while showing you my soft belly and a wink. I teach children to make our favourite treats and then asks them to rub balm on my sore feet. I get fierce when you lie to yourself and stays angry only until you forgive yourself.
I dance naked in the moonlight. I find Spirituality in my Sensuality. People are captivated by my deep belly laughter. I snakes around with my masculinity to protect but bear my goddess body to celebrate.
I am our ancestors calling. I am my love song to self. I am grief, pride, ego and tenderness. I am all the best parts of myself imperfectly balanced on the edge of cliff boiling a warm stew started centuries before. I stand on tables and dances over the patriarchy. I bathe wrongdoers in my blood then their hearts in warm milk to soothe their shame.
I am the lighthouse. I am the burden of proof.