Sing Your Song
Sing!
Sing your song, girl.
Bring in the coming of this new day of golden ray and brilliant light.
Sing the song that washes past regrets and persecutions away.
They can’t get you now.
Sing your song of bitter moon ripe with the half truths of your youth.
Sing your song on this precipice ushered in by Cardinal, Wren and Blue Jay.
Sing the song that lets your enemies know you have
lifted above the lion’s den.
They will hear you say, “Can’t you feel my Leo rising?”
Sing your song, girl, not with lilted voice stuck in perceived gentility.
Sing the long song, bring birth to life even if in harsh chords.
Please chant, rant, cry out aloud like a purple breast throbbing with ache.
Sing your song of mother’s music with the hum of sistah girl pearls
dazzling ‘round your neck.
Let out your song, girl, a sigh walking out of winter’s garden, stare not
into the shadow; whisper not in the language of fear.
Scream your sordid dreams, be bold and step into the light.
Recall your needs and recognize your wants, Good Goddess, Venus Willendorf.
Be ripe, round, full with blood, the juice of life, with child, with dream
pouring over mountains, into the forgotten valley, the vessel of you.
Ring out your song, shout it out, girl, in the midnight hour until the noonday sun.
Petition it to the left, slam it to the right with fist and head held high.
You are moist clay they can’t break you now.
Sing your song that cloaks you in honor with each stretch on your belly,
with each wrinkle around your eye.
Sing the song that lifts your ancestors of long before, those beheaded,
burnt, hung, mutilated, gagged, suppressed, oppressed, maimed in God’s name.
Sing your Song in your voice,
a raised flag of freedom and liberty.
Let it visit in the mission district every girl, man, boy, woman, child,
around the world to the back roads of Sugar Creek, Mississippi,
Botswaina, Bosnia, the hollers of West Virginia, Sudan, Tanzania, the Gaza Strip,
Tibet, Peru, Uganda, Yugoslavia; Johnson City, Tennessee; Asheville, North
Carolina; Waterloo, South Carolina; in the hood, on Park Ave., in Ireland, in Wales, the out back, way back across the Serengeti Plains.
Sing the song that ministers.
Give it away.
It will not be lost,
but will come back ten fold
teeming with life and love.
Sing, girl, sing.
Give breath and fire
with your words.
Sing long and strong
and we
will take
you in.
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