[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.]
While oppression, called society, rules
And puts a clamp on every human with a soul for the sake of appearances;
While some men still speak of domestic tranquility, we witness the birth of the raging female soul. Our once beloved-cursed Eve, returns to Isis to speak:
“Cannot I, make myself mistress of the earth and a goddess like Ra: in heaven and on earth?
Cannot I make myself like Ra: in heaven and on earth? Cannot I make myself, make myself?”
Egyptian Book of the Dead
Shedding the yoke of centuries
She begins anew
As the snake who sheds its skin
Close to the secrets of the earth, she stays Leaving behind the guilt
Leaving behind the myths
Leaving behind the lies
To rot and decay
As apples fallen
In the heat of day
From an old and dying tree.
Now, when danger lurks on every street she dares to walk
This Isis dares to meet
What some would keep her hidden from
Unapproachable blaze
Purifying fire, searing the very dirt from concrete
She is feared by all save those who wear the red glow.
She is the woman who moves with speed and grace
She is you
(Unapproachable blaze)
She is me
(Purifying fires)
She is our Mothers, Mothers, Mothers
Murmurings, Chantings, Hummings
(Make myself, make myself)
All her days
Those long nurtured, long suppressed Poems
That now pour out as torrential rains
Through the spaces of her tightly clenched teeth.
She is unsweet
She is unpalatable
She is unladylike
Yet, she is the seer
She is the soothsayer
Not quite masculine, not quite feminine
Not quite in between
Isis, Isis, Isis
Your time is here.
Copyright Louisa Calio, 1978 In the Eye of Balance
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