She comes in all the colors
In forms and curves
Through curly red, flowing locks
Her pale, freckled skin
She’s in the dreadlocks
In braids that her mother’s
Mother taught her mother before
She is draped in wisdom and strength
Handed down like an heirloom
She is in the faces
Her cries for justice unheard
She smothered her way
Through slavery, corsets,
Through civil rights
Through ages of lawmakers
Telling her and her before, no.
Through every march, protest
With every right, law, bruised ego
She has clawed, screamed and climbed
Her voice, her voice and her voice.
Voices of our oldest mothers and theirs
Your sisters, your daughters
She is the reason we are all here.
She, her, she and her, her, and her.
With a drop of the gavel
The echoes of her voices