Jul 092020
 
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I wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago. And I’ve been hesitant to share it, not knowing whether it would add anything of value to an incredibly fraught, complex and difficult conversation about gender, which the world is attempting to have on a medium which has little capacity to hold the fraught complexities of difficult conversation.

But I am sharing it, because in the end it felt like it wanted to be spoken. So this is an open poem to JK Rowling, dedicated with love to all my trans, non-binary and genderfluid friends, and to everyone who has felt unsafe in a brutal world.

Enough: A Poem for JK Rowling

 We are women,  
we have lived in strange
times, in
harsh, uncomplaining stories
that forgot our
bodies and
the lineated
strengths
of our own hope.


We are women,
shaped by
our invocations
old and new
and you
have called us in.
Given warrior women,
wonder names,
witches names.


And now you speak
for scars,
you name your own,
you speak
the pain
of blood and bone.
You stand alive
for womanhood,
the word
this world,
will rend and shake.


And yet,
more magics
rise to speak.
For we are more,
than has been spoke.
This our body,
this our blood
as womankind
we are enough
to know we are not,
simply
thus.


We are enough
to loose ourselves
hold circles
spilling
through the worlds
and call
upon
the ones within
Forbidden Forest
hidden names.


Yes you see us
now re-dream us.
Yes you wrote us,
now reprieve us,
from unseen us.
Yes we bleed, and so do others,
living voices,
standing with us,
mermaids
dragons,
giant-sisters,
dreaming brothers,
spoken others,
fighters
living,
now they breath us.


Those do not reduce us,
because they are not us,
nor oppose us,
but rather,
like a choir,
a returning space
of otherness
that falls
like rain upon
a name-burnt lawn.


In the centre
of your story,
is a boy
who dies
so he can live.


And what of us?
Can we not let go
of this fossilized
abbreviation,
this broken
sorting
that assumes
we are
defined
by shrinkage we are not
nor never have been?
We are women
and all other worlds.


Oh, we are your other,
wordlings of forgotten power.
In robes and dresses rise,
to look into the
flooded
bathroom of bullied
tears,
and stand with those
who rise against their Ghosting.


Oh, we are our others,
for these words,
have come in through us,
these commanding sighs
from breath to
wand we are
these witches.
You have breathed back
into our imaginations
branded our live incarnations
upon delighted worlds.


But this is our world.
Not dreaming,
nor mis-seeming,
we are living
in this keening,
strong enough
to speak our meaning.
Never think
we cannot understand
our being.
Never think
we cannot
speak the wonder that we are.


We are enough
to look outside a window,
made of fear
that did not know
that there are other names.
We are enough
to make
an incandescent exit
accompany
with fireworks
those who
break from
walls
that do not work.


So as you stand,
and speak for us,
do so and know,
we are enough,
to multiply
our forms
and love,
despite a world
live with untrust.


Thank you for words
you offered in,
may women live
in worlds of kin.
May discussion
succeed hate
may safety rise
and never shake,
may all who breath
be trusted with
their deepest make.
For still and still,
while worlds are rough,
give credence to
this changing us.
For still,
and still,
This is the trust.
For more than us,
We are enough.

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