Some women love to wait for life for a ring in the June light for a touch of the sun to heal them for another woman’s voice to make them whole to untie their hands put words in their mouths form to their passages sound to their screams for some other sleeper to remember their future their past.
Some women want for their right train in the wrong station in the alleys of morning for the noon to holler the night come down.
Some women wait for love to rise up the child of their promise to gather from earth what they do not plant to claim pain for labor to become the tip of an arrow to aim at the heart of now but it never stays.
Some women wait for visions that do not return where they were not welcome naked for invitations to places they always wanted to visit to be repeated.
Some women wait for themselves around the next corner and call the empty spot peace but the opposite of living is only not living and the stars do not care.
Some women wait for something to change and nothing does change so they change themselves.
Stations by Audre Lorde
