Happy International Women's Day

And daily I try to silence her.

The raging anti-feminist voice inside of me.

She who devalues what I do,

Condemns me for what I don't,

And never has a kind word to say about my work

At home

Or otherwise.

She who questions the very implications of such a label,

Self affixed, despite historical racism,

Despite marginalization,

Despite the potential for future oppression:

Feminist.

I hear her.  Respect her more than I should.

But I know she's wrong. 

I know that my choices, my values, the labels I choose to adorn

Are not accidental, misguided, or improper.

My life is my own,

My love freely distributed.

I know that with each day comes knowing.

Recognition of one's self unlike the day before.

Today I say, 

I am honoured to share in the sisterhood of woman.

May I always act in the love, generosity, and determination 

That sisterhood engulfs and inspires within me.

Meet

And if only things were so easy as grabbing hands, holding tight.

Placing soft kisses that relax furrowed brows.

Exchanging looks that know it all and need not explanation, nor apology.

Instead silence grows.

Sadness creeps.

You and I fail to meet.

Gripped

And again we circle back to fear.
You'd think I'd recognize the shape of his head,
or her signature gait, from the back
as many times as I have rounded this block.

But a tune being hummed distracts me.
In the distance I see the answer I've been seeking taking shape
and its by accident that I stumble upon fear again.
Having not recognized the suffocating scent of self doubt
until already surrounded with nowhere to flee.

I mistake dawn for dusk,
the beginning for the end.
Blink a couple of times to regain my focus,
retrieve reading glasses to properly see
the blurred vision moving slowly in front of me
hoping I am quick enough to grasp it before it is gone forever.

Today I am lucky.
The doctor tells me I have eyes like my father
and while I am yet unsure whether that is a blessing or curse,
I look on.
I take hold of the vision, clinch it close to my chest
and walk along with fear.
Knowing that the first steps past fear are the hardest,
That as I move out of paralysis, fear has no choice but to loosen its grip.

So yeah...this

It's been a challenging week.

I'm not always sure about my parenting abilities.  There I said it.  I am a full-time homemaker and sometimes I feel like I suck at my job.  I yell too much and housework is almost never the priority.

All that being said, the following link made me smile and feel just a little less alone.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sarah-fader/threeyearolds-are-asshole_b_4784416.html

Slow

And rather than hurried and scared

Spooked by shadows and ghouls alike

I choose to walk slowly.

Running my fingertips along a line of bricks

In a wall

Erected to honour that which I may never fully know.

Feeling for clues along smooth dips and abrasive surfaces

Hoping the texture will reveal truths

Only visible in the brilliant rays of self-love.

Thirst

And the only plant that seems to have survived more than a very short season in our house is an aloe vera plant.  It's not been a whole year, but I'm hoping we can make it last.  I find myself internally extolling the benefits of house plants: purer air, the fact that they are symbols of growth and life.  Yet, they almost always go neglected.  Mid-way up the stairs on the way to bed I say to myself, first thing in the morning I'll water the plant and then days past before what seems like a ritual starts again as I glance up at some point during the day at the browning edges of the plant I intend to water.

A friend gave me some insight as to why the aloe vera plant may have a chance, why it might actually survive for longer than a couple months.  No wilting and dying, but thriving in the floods and droughts that characterize my plant tending habits.

Some plants it turns out are designed for just that.  So I am counting on the plump water filled leaves of my aloe vera plant to help me.  Help me adapt to its needs, maybe even develop a consistent care routine that I can stick to.

I imagined I'd tie those thoughts into some larger conversation about floods and droughts and thirst, but I am at a loss.  So I guess I'll await the next flood of thoughts or emotions that tumble out in a new poem or post, and just admire the dust until then.

Valentines