I've been reading 100 word stories at Mr. London Street this week and was inspired to offer this:
Mother napped me on the porch to be toughened
by the gales of winter, to cut teeth on New England nor'easters
and fight the undeclared war against girls.
Middle child, only girl, small for my age.
I grew to a storm wintered warrior child,
sight practiced on bare lilac thicket, schooled by wind
in how the world sounds, cries accompanied
by jays and blackbirds, layered against the elements.
Perhaps my skirmishes were attempts to win
that unwinable war but I fought with the fury of calling,
battered brothers' enemies, marshaled anger from hidden fronts
as I gave birth to myself.
(photo from all-free-download.com)
