poem draft : hearing the call

i'm still working on this one...

see how the ocean waves comes in
quietly retells how we come from
and are called back to it

tears remind us of our watery home,
the concoction of salt, mineral, fluid
where our comfort lies


for many, we are the first generation of women
allowed to be completely free
and with access to that freedom

we birth our ancestors, listen to our ancestor voices
moreso, hear our own calling and realize the voice
behind that call is our own

no longer must we mask ourselves for survival
masquerading to fit
…

poem : dark mother

arms extended
luminous dark
the night sky
stars
markers for those pains
healed into brilliance

humid air surrounding her
radiance of waters
welcoming yemaya


yemaya, mother of fishes,
yemaya, rejoicing in oya

oya
our first and last breath
her arms forming the center of our lives
the hurricane of the world outside
oya
sheltering