Stirring

There is a stirring
an ache in the heart
in depths that defy
known space
time
A rise in the soul
of ancient voices
of the women
who have bled
who have lost
who have waited
who have endured
Salt wash of tears
in eyes long thought dry
Tingle
in fingertips
in palms
now empty
longing to cup
themselves
on bare skin
on malleable clay
mold the world
into new shapes
where every breath
is not a knife
where the past
is not inscribed on bone
where she remembers
how to dance
among the stars

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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