Solidarity - Solid - Daring - Womyn

PART I
we were not always solid in ourselves
shaky voices railing against the men who promised us white dresses in exchange for cages
we knew better than to bind ourselves to those who would rather beat us back into our place
as if we were mules
fools to be caught wearing dresses and lipstick
for these were the tools used to keep women quietly obsessing about their inferiority
dressing like dolls instead of messing up high school halls
with gender bending loud moth calls
clanking chains across metal lockers
making so much noise there would never be any doubt that this female was too fierce
for any wedding ring
any white dress
any wife title

PART II
or was she?
or was she dressing like a boy and cursing to save herself from drowning?
was her wide mouth grinning to hide her sadness?
was spitting on the pavement a sign of strength?
or a sign she learned from the boys walking down sidewalks like they owned them?
she learned how to look sideways and carry her keys laced through knuckles
when she walked to her car late at night
she learned how to recite all the reasons why women were too complicated, too catty
too caught up in how they were looking
always looking for men who would look at them and tell them they were looking good
and maybe she just wanted to be one of those boys so she could stand on the street corner smoking cigarettes and spitting,
shoulders thrown back and strutting
and maybe she was afraid that she was looking

PART III
I peeled back every layer of my understood identity and found a stranger
she was hollow and broken - burnt to ash and blowing away
I ran after her pieces and put them safely in a bag
and left the town I grew up in
and arrived with next to nothing in a city full of strangers
ready to rebuild with hard sun and soft mud
and a collection of yucca pods I found in an alley.
For the first time in this life I was thrust into a world of womyn like some lottery I was luck, ringing like a penny in a sidewalk crack
I was shining like a promise
I was loving womyn like I was loving myself and the two seemed to go hand in hand
like paper dolls we stretched out across the city
linked and making herstory
turning pots upside down and drumming
singing our stories into the warm nights like our scars could be sewn up with celebration
we rocked the concrete with our boots pounding out a rhythm and a revolution
and we sometimes stumbled
wading through our past abuses we processed our pain and found our voices
sorting through all we were taught about class and ability; race and gender identity,
we learned how to stand strong and fight for each other
and even though we still made mistakes
we were one step closer because we were no longer blaming each other
we let each phoenix rise in her time
gave her room to fly
unpacked the ashes and planted seeds
and we were solid
and we were daring

PART IV
She feels guilty for looking this good
each piece of her is luxury
a finely polished fantasy of femme
abandoned jeans for fishnet stocking she has painted scarlet toenails and platforms
and while she still refuses to shave any part of her tender skin
she trims the hair under her arms and between her legs so she can have that delicate sensation
of lace or satin on a freshly trimmed pussy
yeah she even wears panties now and a pretty row of silver earrings
each accessory, each angle a part of her artistry
and she holds her femininity like it was her only destiny to be
WOMAN
to walk tall and strong
WOMAN
to talk loud and unafraid
WOMAN
and while some men may misinterpret her as a piece of ass for them to acquire
she knows that this creation
this body of desire
this woman-ifestation is for her and her alone
like all art she is oblivious to the viewer
her purpose is more than aesthetic
she is spitting through her lipstick
batting lashes at her reflection
loving every bulge of belly and plat formed pigeon toe
and while she may be misunderstood as straight
she is unmistakable as femme
a feminine woman
a woman-loving woman

PART V
"Do you want me to go to the bathroom with you?"
I ask my friend who identifies as transgender
you see, we are in the middle of nowhere
and in this country where rural can sometimes mean narrow
I offer as an act of solidarity
because this gas station will surely only have two doors - dresses or pants- so I offer
since he could be questioned or screamed at or attacked in either - I offer
because I have heard enough tales of bathroom rape to be leery about any
person - plus public - restroom equation - I offer
because I’m an ally - I offer
An ally is solid and daring
taking risks when they do not have to
coming to understand another persons struggle
speaking up, taking action, intervening
when they see someone who is silenced, abused, or dehumanized,
it is solid and daring
it is solidarity
it is not lofty or intellectual or reserved only for martyrs and masters programs
it is an everyday practice
it is as simple as listening to womyns' stories,
letting go of competition,
offering childcare,
taking a trip to the bathroom
holding open doors for our sisters with wheel chairs or baby strollers,
educating ourselves and others about birth, abortion, masturbation, menstruation
and it can be as scary as intervening when we see a woman being abused by her lover
or harassed by the cops,
or examining how our race and class offer us privilege and therefore security
or acknowledging that we live in a system where men control most of the power and money
and understanding how war and capitalism are fueled by this system
and it can be as liberating as loving and healing our bodies
hearing the wisdom of our foremothers
listening to the ideas of our younger sisters
choosing exactly what we want our lives to look like
and reaching for that dream with every pen stroke,
every lucky penny,
every seedpod,
every satin panty,
you see it's only when we are solid in ourselves that we can be daring,
solid and daring
solidarity

~ Amanda Rich