Tiny hands beat the air as she was pushed from her
mother’s body and gasped for breath emitting a sharp
healthy cry of hope, fear, pain and hunger. A crumpled,
dimpled face blinked at the light. So she started her long
interminable fight for safety, fair treatment, to thrive,
to shine as that light in a world that has already
passed judgement on her because of her gender.
She opened like a blossom of Spring whose petals
floated like pink sails to the earth leaving the precious
beginnings of fruitfulness. The frosts of misogyny
burned the burgeoning fruit and cast it to the ground
where it lay unfulfilled,
dying
and
a
promise
lost.
