How Our Bodies Did This Unfamiliar Thing

We women stand in our men shoes, our bodies

doing this unfamiliar thing. Hands that scrubbed

clothes in wash basins, wrung pillowcases, hung white

flannel sheets on long clothes lines, pinning and clipping,

how now those hands have become cranes, each hand

a link in a chain, joining steel feathers, building birds

of prey. It was the world turned inside out. It was

a time when birds migrated here from Germany

to hunt prey. Each lift of arm a piece of the jigsaw,

build muscles on our puny arms. The lift – slot, lift

– slot, lift – slot, seven days for three years. My fingers

would crush my pay slips, fold fresh notes, slip each

between my breast, burying my independence in the folds

of my body. How our bones rose up in dark times and held

the hounds at bay. How our bodies fed the children, how we

endured. How we grew wings in these dark times

and when our men returned they hacked off our wings

with hatchets and folded us back into the kitchen.