Tuesday, 2 August 2016

The Bloodline.

(Written about a day at the beach with my daughter when she finally came to understand the fight and the love.)

Her first bikini,
Black,
Plain,
Don't look style.
Stood out a mile.

In the sea we smiled
And swam
And chattered the easy layers
Of growing up and apart
We faced together.

Blue green glimmers
Of her future
Lapped at her hair
I held her
aware
I must let her go

She stayed briefly beside
the waves
I sighed
Sat with my sister
Admired
Her beautiful,
Clumsy, quiet, youth.

Soon, splashing to shore
She brought her gold
Back to my spot
The shine to my side
My sparkling jewel girl.

Blood came then.

It was not slow or shy,
It rushed down her legs
Launched by the sea
Free
A river roar.

Women saw.

Stranger women circled
around and beside us,
Tried to hide us.
Offered up towels
As shrouds of kindness

I gently rocked her
Stroked her cheek and hair
Told her of proud red
and why women had said
They care.

We rocked her
mopped her
Staunched the flow
Patched her up
And caught her.

Women are swift
And deftly handle
Other women's distress
Like darning a damaged
Cloth of fine wool

She, held head high,
Firm of heart,
Sure,
It was another part
Of the war
She never saw start.

She is a warrior my girl,
She comes from the brave
Uncowed, unbowed, firm
She will go on to save
Women.

This is what women know
There is a flow
From woman to woman
A gift of shared blood
Of shared battle
Shared flood.

No man came near
Men have fear
Of uniting women
Who link with centuries
Of other women
Bleeding their love
On each other.

We can touch
At times like these
We can put our fingers
On blood not lips
And dip our sleeves
In the work of sisters
From before
It's in our core
To tame our blood.

This, my sisters
Is shared girlhood.



Jean Hatchet