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the women hold space like trees do, sweet fresh air between their tender branches. unseen roots draw deep down into dark moist sustenance, making homes for songbirds, windsong and children who puff with asthmatic exertion. the women stand in front of army trucks & policemen, uniforms & riot gear with only their soft skin & clear eyes to protect their beating hearts. the mothers, the sisters, the aunties, the grannies, the daughters crack open the ugly pavement of unjust laws & find old rivers underneath. quietly, firmly, they pray & burn offerings for the four directions to come together in sacred commitment to all of creation: the frogs, the slugs, the hummingbirds, the whales, the mountains, the creeks, the laughing ones & the crying ones, the tough ones & the weak ones, the silly ones & the serious ones, the clowns & the cooks, the farmers & the fishers. the women dig their toes into the generous earth remembering their mothers and their neighbours, their relatives who fly and those who swim. the women have forgotten so much but they are starting to remember. no matter how many of them have been killed, beaten, insulted, the women continue to stand together. the women plant trees & gardens. the women eat fresh peaches & can huckleberries. they compost & compile recipes. the women forage for mushrooms & cultivate stubborn corn. they praise the sun & the night with their toil. they tickle each other and guffaw. the women lick their lips with gusto. they perch on the edge of teetering cities. they jump into organic fields. the women build homes with their beloveds. the women find ways to laugh even when life isn’t funny. the women remain