Shadow Poet

A strong woman pulls at her heart
 with both hands,
 knuckles swollen, skin split,
 eyes worn soft at the edges
 by years of salt.

A strong woman keeps her truths
 just behind the breastbone.
 She swallows what rises,
 lets it burn its way down.

A strong woman will hold you, stroke your hair,
 and coo,
 Shush now, my darling,
 my turtle dove.
 Her love does not break under the weight.
 It learns the shape of it.

A strong woman carries generations
 like dust in her lungs.
 She weeps at the small, steady drum
 of a child against her chest.
 She tells you stories
 as if they are roads she’s still walking.

A strong woman lifts her head from the pillow
 each morning,
 grateful for one more day
 to pull at the thread of her becoming.

At night, she leans into the dark
 and whispers,
 Keep me still.