I feel their grit inside my bones.
I keep quiet when they tell me to,
and do my work in secret. 
Hard women built the edges of me. 
I see their jaws in pictures. 
Teeth set. Face of grief.
Hands on the plough,
Eyes straight ahead,
Babies in pockets and hanging on skirts. 
Hard women built the edges of me. 
Their graves on hills cast shadows
longer than the living
at the end of the day. 
At the end of the day,
let me stand, Lord God,
in those shadows.
Straight up to the edges 
made
by hard women.