Women fret and stew because they feel
with blood and sinew, hands and heels.
Each breath they take is a timeless hold
on the history of family and friends so bold
it carries all aloft to a future filled with bliss.
The nesting instinct is nothing less
than continuation of species and best
embraced and supported as what it is;
our best hope for survival in peace,
in world fractured by power and greed.
Women seize their freedom in both hands.
Women march and take stands against tyranny.
Women need never ask for self-rule of their bodies.
They already hold their own agency.
Only blind men fail to see
powerful women could set them free.
WE ARE THE WORLD
While children here sing
“Rain, rain go away.
“Come again another day.”
China seeds the clouds above
and firefighters ask for aid
to battle flames that spread so wide
there is no place for lungs to hide.
Fragile systems bend and break
as I lie in my bed alert, awake
to all the trauma in the world;
clutching hands which hold out hope
to help heal damage beyond their scope.
All that seems real are nerves afray
and hands held in prayer for better days.
For days when birds again find their way
among the butterflies and bees.
When war engines fall into disrepair
and children frolic and play free
of worries that hide
in thoughts of suicide.
We are the world. The world is us.
the world hangs in the balance
of hands held in trust.
Reach out your hands enjoined to others.
Earth’s survival truly depends on us.
annarino writes 