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Daughter of the Revolution, Listen
by: miriam
The poems 'blood sister' and 'sloppy sages'
are also in #7
Blackbird, push the night away in
slow waves of morning t’ai chi;
let your wing speak in ancient
ways to rouse my family to action.
I ask Bluebird, how does one lone
dove get her parents to fight again?
Mine have lain still since their
wedding day waiting for the new
leaders to come. They cannot see that
pouring morning tea does not a
movement make.
I slide my wings open like
a screen, bamboo over paper
in the seeming ease of equality.
Yet my parents lie still like earth.
Not even stomps will rouse their
sleeping wing eyes.
I spin in my crumpled cocoon ears
the sound of their flapping
new world order. If I can let my heart open
like a forsythia, their quiet hands
will move me forward like the breezes
of beginning pen strokes.
I hear with closed eyes my family of
butterfly wings telling me:
your mother is your root
your father, your air; now
it is for you to be like the orchid, rare and everyday
raising your pistil for the revolution.
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