Of "Sisters"

I have read this poem before, but never with such meaning. First I had cold chills that lifted the hair right off my head (what there is of it.) As I finished reading, I began to cry. It is, indeed, perfect. The words are balanced in a way that renders it beyond beautiful, into the sacred.

I shall green
I shall go forth over this red land

Heather and I, standing in the darkness, holding hands to keep from falling . . . we shall begin to green as well. This work, this searching, this quest will begin to bloom us green. Here where “love has always been in the threading, history too, and beauty, and the word.”

I read these words:

These are my sisters
namegivers
walkers

my sisters gave names
to the birds
to the snake
to all running things
and to all things
that crawl on the red earth

And I thought, with chills, of Maya’s perception about code. My sisters, namegivers, walkers. They will soon all be here.

A blessing on your words, Fran. On these words and all the others. I told Heather a while ago, “Fran can write a poem saying she’s blocked and can’t write a poem and it is a fantastic poem, better than most people’s best.” It’s true. I don’t even need to bless your words, someone else did that long, long, ago.