The Wildness
       

of girls twines inside our veins
like blackberry brambles, like climbing roses,
like wisteria that breaks through your walls.
We smell things you can't smell on the wind —
a coming tornado, the ripeness of strawberry.
In our feet a dance made of water and leaves
you cannot learn. It's too bad we are only
heard from rarely, that we are pushed down wells
and locked in prisons, that you burn and drown us,
that we are called witches and worse.
In our blood are secrets of life,
we can read the twitch of a cat's tail
or the smell of foxfur. We cannot reel in
our wildness for you. You strangle a voice
that is heard in the echoes of forests yet.
They call us ghosts. We lead men into
mountains to die. We lure men to the sea to
                    drown. Our sighs in your ears as you succumb.
Because you will not let us show you
our wildness, our soul the pull of the tides
and the moon, in our eyes a reflection
of a garden you lost long ago. Feet fleet
as a doe's. Hair soft as a seal. Fingers
quick as a dragonfly. Beware: we remember
how to tame the unicorn's mane; we were
born in eggshell and seafoam. You will
never be able to stamp us out. We'll corrupt
the dirt, the fruit, the farms, the children.
We'll wind our ways through the mineral
streams of the earth. We will wash through
caves and beaches. Goodbye, you'll wish
you heard us say, when we really mean,
good riddance.

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Copyright © 2020 Jeannine Hall Gailey All rights reserved
from Cherry Tree
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission