words for women of fire

*inspired by a poem by Sylvia Plath, to all
the women with fire*

there are few poems
for the women who wield fire
as a weapon of crowning glory
over the ills set before them,
few words
left for the women with hair
of volcanic red,
to match hells with no water.

their hair,
bequeathed beacons burning away
everything imposed like a rocket piercing space,
removing all of those impurities
that cloak themselves in noble things
and like thieves before the crime
shed them briskly
to wage war upon bodies and spirits.

these women
rising to eat men and myths
like so much oxygen,
suffocating the insufferable
leaving dry bones in their wake
whetting their palates with song
and love that is as free as a baby’s laugh
or when truth shows up for dinner

the women
who let fire flow as their crown
will live their own poetry
with unburdened hearts providing a sound.


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