Standing on the soapbox again

I'm standing on the soapbox again. Been doing it a lot lately.

Feminine Resistance

                     With words from King Lear by William Shakespeare

The weight of this sad time — a migraine sits low in back

on my neck for days on end. Outside conflicts invade thoughts

of weeding and mowing and thinning radishes —

we must obey. Not likely to agree with old white men with racist views or

their wives (unfeminists). Told to keep our mouths shut, we will

speak what we feel, walk with whom we choose, and read ‘1984’ by George Orwell

for the twenty-seventh time this year. We will be not be polite Canadian women,

we will scream and yell

‘I am my own person’

not what we ought to say.

© Catherine Woods 2017

What are we waiting for?

Open Your Eyes and Really See

A new day dawns, but do you really see

the sun as it filters through the canopy of maple leaves?

A new life begins, but do you really feel

her baby-soft skin as she grabs your fingers to hold your heart?

A new path winds its way among the cat-tails and grasses, but do you really hear

the cricket’s chirp in tune or the bullfrog’s invasive baritone?

A new sweet rose fragrance wafts by, but do you detect the underlying mulch decaying,

returning to the soil that which belongs as dust to dust, ashes to ashes?

Open your eyes and really see what the world has to offer you

before it fades from bruised apathy and ragged conflict.

© Catherine Woods 2017

The past repeats itself

In looking back to these words from 1999, I see that little has changed. This is so very sad.

4 Girl Stories (horror and hope)

I

Beneath a colourful boubou,

a mischievous smile breaks through;

fuse tradition with a modem cloth.

Her father has 3 wives and 30 children; against him,

she goes to school and will marry who she chooses.

She questions tribal elders,

not accepting their dubious words, she uncovers truth

and will not be mutilated as have sisters and cousins.

Perhaps she will become a doctor or lawyer

or journalist in Senegal.

II

Kidnapped at 12 by rebel gunmen

while fetching water for her family,

she is molded into pack mules to carry,

sex slaves to service, baby soldiers to kill.

For 5 years she hears only

hatefearviolencepowerrapeshooting

inside and out.

As one of 9 wives to a cruel captain,

she escapes Uganda by running running

running until midnight. Now she sews

and bakes and laughs and

tries to trust again.

III

For generations, the women in her family have been

prostitutes;

descendants of women who earned their living dancing

for Indian princes and kings; their men, solely dependent,

have no skills with which to provide

a loaf of day-old bread.

Her older brother intervenes, protecting her

from the familial path. Now she lives

in a mud house (beside the toilet,

an open field) and earns a living as she crafts

embroidered purses --

3 a day for a dollar.

Someday she will give her daughter the best

with the little she has.

IV

Her effects: a generous smile, an infectious laugh, 3 dresses, 1 pair of slippers;

her diet: bread, rice, lentils;

her home: a thatched roof house of clay and wood with

no running water or electricity.

She raises her younger sister (her mother has TB), cooks

and cleans for a family of 6,

sweeps the floor,

fetches water,

makes tea and breakfast,

harvests rice, potatoes, oil seed.

To be the only girl her age to go to school shows

her determination; as an educated girl,

her dowry will be high; as a social worker,

she will change the lives of other village girls

in Nepal

in health,

in education,

in discrimination

on this paltry earth.

© Catherine Woods 1999, 2017

More thoughts on refugees and immigrants

All thoughts are good but I'm curious.

The Hijab

I see you sitting on the bus, quietly reading,

ignoring those around you who stare and

shake their heads. The scarf that completely covers

the hair I cannot see is peacock blue. My mother’s favourite.

Her favourite dress, in that warm romantic colour, adorns her

in my mind, when I go back to that fateful day,

that Wednesday when she told me she was dying, while I was ironing

tea towels (or was it sheets). It doesn’t matter now.

I look at you with my mother’s grace and wonder

what the headscarf means, and why it is important. She would sit beside you

quietly and let you talk about what you are, and how it give you self-respect,

that peacock-blue upon your head. However, I would directly ask you

when it hurts and when it maims, and

how you hide your fears from your children entering their lives

in this new country you now call home. How do I not fear

those dark, detached eyes, those black as night eyes,

those sad as whining baby eyes? Why do you hide from me?

Do you hide because of guilt or shame? Does the hijab 

make you feel safe somehow? Is a scarf upon my head

not making the same statement? I want to understand why I cannot see your hair

and how your hair deserves protection from my eyes.

I want to understand so I can help you to be free from fear.

© Catherine Woods 2017

We are all refugees today

Without Borders

As a noun or a verb,

a border separates

grass from trees,

water from sand,

Canada from the USA,

life from death,

us from them.

As an obstacle or a meeting place,

a border holds in,

restrains anger,

permeates falsehoods,

relays mistrust,

bring every issue to a head

for a battle that cannot and should not be fought.

Knock down the border between

every man and every woman,

every child and every parent,

every straight and every LGBTQ human being,

every one breathing air upon this earth with skin of

every colour of the rainbow, and

ask why borders exists if we are all equal

upon this planet

we call home.

© Catherine Woods 2017 

June 6, 1944

My mother was praying. My father was fighting. Both were doing their part. They hadn't met.

D Day

A day we must not forget

The beach was long and sandy

The troops were sitting ducks

The sky was filled with clouds

The boats kept coming

The Germans kept shooting

The Allies kept dying

We keep remembering June 6, 1944

© Catherine Woods 2017

Now is the time to open your mouth and say ...

To speak, you need bravery and knowledge and confidence. Or you need to be older without fear.
Before now than never.

To speak out is to learn of yourself

I want to shout the words even though

I’m afraid of what you might say.

I’m tired of hiding behind reason and prosperity.

I want you to know my thoughts, my desires, my wants,

my mistakes, my loves, and my hates. I want to type

in ALL CAPS All over this page,

screaming out truths and lies before

I’m gone. I want not to be afraid of leaving

by giving you all of knowledge,

my 60 years of trivia, junk, spam, worthless letter combination,

presented prose, and unmetered syntax.

I want you to know who I am and to know

who I was, and who I will be. Yes, I still dream.

I want to stand alone on a stage in front of

thousands of people staring at me

while I read my words and think of them

as naked like me.

© Catherine Woods 2017

Letting in run without stopping

Today I want to let it go, the words, the sounds, the instances of youth, the myriad of happenings, and just be. So here it is.

Consequence of Silence

These words took years to arrive— Bhanu Kapil

Let your thoughts go and follow them as they pass by

the house on the corner on their way to the next bus stop.

Keep the words, throw off the enemy sounds, and weave

the instances of youth through your current life,

learning the reasons for mistakes, and possibly

learning along the way how to sleep, and how to listen,

and why the future is not what you want to see but what you want

to erase. Keep out the anger and the hate; bring forth the breathe of spring

the light of day

the edge of night-time observation. Just let the letters and the spaces

fill the page with streams of tears for those who cannot voice their own opinions.

Awake, awake, and scream so loud.

Awake, awake, and break out

of the mould, break out and walk and walk, never stopping, never stopping,

never ending. The cliff-face holds you back, but do you want to be held back from release

when it screams, and you understand

why you are here.

© Catherine Woods 2017