My Wild Woman

by Phoebe Turner

My wild woman,

born from my brain perhaps 

but incredibly nimble and original,

original like the roots, like plants and trees in

the virgin forests we’ve destroyed. 

She is native to the land, 

born from its womb, 

drinking the water of its breast, 

at once nature and people–

smudging the line between them.

She is the sky colored purple in the fading light,

she is triste with the heavy heart of a rain cloud,

she is awoken buds of spring stirred to bright green at the gentle fingertips of rain and rays of sunlight kissing down

She knows truth and wisdom like no man has ever experienced, 

she is a nymph of the lilac forest and a cavewoman living at the highest peaks

She is so brave. She is so valiante, courageuse.

She is me. She is you. 

Her screams of grief have fallen on deaf ears, deafened ears, 

and she grows angrier, more desperate, more frustrated, more bereaved, and hungry as we ignore her calls

Speak, I implore her. 

I’m here more than ever, 

ready to hear your heart’s story. 

Tell me how you think we got here.