who braid hair,
tassels of silk
between rough hands
red bitten fingertips.
I know women who dress up,
tailored like primroses
whose made up faces hide flaws,
who walk in rooms to walk in rooms.
I know women who become
the land, plant and gather
contain and cradle
who heal broken things.
I know women who look
upwards, reveal clavicles
sewing needles
to weave their lives.
I know women
who kneel down low
ears pressed to the ground
and listen.
I know women who lie down tired.
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