the women who save me


this is for all the suffering of the women who save me,
ongoing in the present tense, that is
as in every day
every day passed
every day to come
all the every of all the moments of all the times space conceals from us.

there have been many, one of whom carried the biggest burden of my conversion,
in whose ears i imagine,
are the gunshots of my shouting,
the bruises of my arrogance,
the bullet holes of my jagged words,
the crown of thorny battering of my distance,
intellectual-isms creeping into bloody holes.

she once wrote me, when we still used paper,
“I always love you” and that use of the present tense,
the ongoing, habitual, continual, never ending persistence of love,
echoes inside me,
inside me,
inside me.

in her face, in her hands, in her her,
her womb, her womanity, humanity,
do i find refuge and hope,
fertility i have never requested of anyone,
and am a proud non reproducer of myself,
but in her fertility of love,
her fertility of determination,
of continuance in spite of,
patience, acceptance and slow moving tears,
do i believe in another world,
one unlike the one she finds herself caged in,
as we men are caged in ours,
having closed the door and locked it ourselves,
in iron coldness.

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