I HAVE NEVER KNOWN TRUE HUNGER/ EARNED

what makes a women?

breath, blood, bone?

An ache, an arch, an answer?

This women was imprisoned for digging up potatoes - earth-skinned, shriveled lumps the size of a child's fist.

The full-bellied harvesters left them behind like rubble.

December froze the earth to challenge her fingers, 

already gnarled as tree roots at twenty-three.

she stole no more than her apron could carry, just enough to soothe the blue lips of those fighting off starvation at home.

just as they finished washing the dirt out of her raw fingers

and gulping down the peels and sprouts,

the boot of justice broke down their door.

A prison floor in the grip of winter was her death bed

but her risk pulled the family through another week.

what makes a women? Breath, blood, bone? An ache, an arch, an answer? what makes a women worth wanting?

A crown of virtues?

patience, compassion, grace - none of these are soft or sweet or delicate. None of these are true until they've been placed in front of an opponent. They cannot be bestowed. 

They must be salvaged, scavenged, earned.

white smiles, rattlesnake tongues, loud voices held up weak spines: this is what made me. They didn't even need to touch me to teach me, to break me into something worth wanting.

I've never known true hunger,I sleep in a warm bed every night and i would take the threat of rage over starvation any day, but i like to imagine that she would approve of my resolve.

patience, compassion, grace - they are a champion's shiny ribbon. They are the black eye and bruises.

In desperation and out of necessity, they were clawed out of the dirt in a barren field with nothing but a threat to warm the back of my neck