Her life was written
In the margins
Tolled in fine print
Subject to lexicons
Beyond apprehension
Not adorned by elegant types
Or gaudy cursive
In fancy addresses
Wear truth is stranger then fiction
More than won could possibly ink
Never the lass, a worthy tale
At any rate, without prints charming
Repulsed by such false hood
A version true
To the hands she was dealt
Never to be red
Bye patron eyes
Perhaps only to be recalled
By awe that made her
More than quiet right
Or left
To live free how
Ever out of bounds
This poem is a story about a woman whose life cannot be captured by any conventional telling, dominant customs, nor any mere man. 
This poem is a testament to women’s tenacious endurance, creative expression, grounded sensibilities, unequaled solidarity, authentic presence, and bold healing they bring to the world. She centers an off-kilter world in unremitting celebrations of life. Still, my words can only fail in awe of the sacred silence from which she speaks. May my shutting up be an honorable beginning.
