Year of the woman

​She loves buttons and she

Wears her hair down now and it’s

True - the center of us all

Could live in her, for moments, or seconds,

At a time. And when she passes it on, we know,

For she alone rises early, to unlock the door,

Whether it’s safe outside or whether

The air is trapped and the ground is firm
​
​And all is still and wiped.