Under a Tree on Umpawaug (pastel) by Polly Castor
For all the Jane Does
Walking through the rain-damp grass,
cool morning air startles me
into being, and I realize how
the news of violence against women
has numbed me. So quickly the body
remembers its wounds and shuts down.
This morning the yellowing cottonwood
leaves are so bright, the chokecherry
leaves so red, and the bird overhead
keeps calling out, bringing me here,
here to this moment when I am safe,
this moment where light rain glazes my skin.
I want every woman to feel this,
to know her body as a receptor for beauty,
to breathe in the rich scent of autumn
and feel cradled by soft gray sky.
So I turn toward the news, because
I want the news to be different. Because
one woman’s story is everyone’s story.
I lift my eyes, feel the cool drizzle on my face.
A cold fury burns inside me.
Golden leaves fall. They are beautiful.
I feel it all.
by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Still Flourishing (collage) by Polly Castor
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