for my friends

We are women of impossible dimensions
We shadow the crag rock and follow Coal Creek curves
Despite our depth we approach you casual as side-slung leather
We call hearts to soften and we chisel flint tips
we taste like turmeric because golden ancient stories stir our bones

We are the careful turn of phrases
and the soft smooth underarm
But be warned some cut forelocks of red hair on new moon and
others chant to ward you off when curled up in determined sleep
thumb to forefinger, we can mostly dance alone

We are sharp eyes and hips
the cleavage of a culture
and despite distance, death and danger we are bonded

You may think this curve of cheek
or the steady slap of tongue,
a supple slip, is invitation
to take- you can try but you must know-
there is boldness behind our breast.