I waited underground,

held my story at my breast

like a dying bird.

I cradled the truth in the dark,


Once or twice, I almost died,

almost gave up,

back to the earth,

back to the void.

But his voice comes to me in

the fold of the night

and beckons me to stay.

So I stay,

curled like a fist

in the loamy beneath.

I stay, a flame

in the heart of a cave.

I stay through death

upon death,

and many times I wonder

if I will see the sun again.

But it always rises,

a wing of blood.

Hope returns

When I hear you, woman,

when I hear you calling back.

When you speak

I live.