And the Russian women in blue towns

are speaking.

The flower-dressed women of India,

women in orange tents,

dark women

of the Americas

who sit beside fires,

have studied the palms of their hands

and walk toward one another.

It’s time

to bless this ground.

Their hair is on fire

from the sun

and they walk narrow roads

toward one another.

Their pulses beat

against the neck’s thin skin.

They grow closer.

. . .

Daughters, the women are speaking.

They arrive

Over the wise distances

On perfect feet.

Daughters, I love you.

from ‘The Women Speaking’ by Linda Hogan¹