The Wild Woman in you
learned to dance on glow-eyed coals
when needed and felt all the burning
but never complained.
The Wild Woman in me
tries on your dancing shoes and understands
fiercely all manner of your pain.
Someday we might ease each other
through the brimstone, singing our songs,
our Wild Woman hymns of burnt offerings
surging through our chests and
moving us along,
honing our aim
and thanking the flames.
J. Pratt-Walter, © 2019
TreeSong poetry workshop
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