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The Roots of Women

and what our branches supply

By RachaelPublished 4 years ago • 2 min read
Top Story - July 2022

I stand bravely, feet rooted in the ground and heart open towards the sun.

Silence encompassing the air around me, there are no sounds in the breeze whispering words of duty, of tradition, or of expectation.

I am alone with myself, and I am at peace.

Below me is the history and decisions of the women that came before me. The tears that they shed that fell into the ground and helped to grow their roots still exist to nourish and provide for mine.

I feel outstretched branches, growing from deep within my core upwards towards the sky. I grew them myself and they are strong. Many come and sit below them, using their shade, their beauty, using this resource that I have created.

At times it’s taken unwillingly, selfishly, forcefully, and unexpectedly. I have a lot to provide, but it is mine to decide if I am willing to give. At times this choice is taken from me.

Others pass by and point out the scrapes on the branches, the discoloration of leaves, the shape of me or my choice on where I stand and decide to root down.

But I am a woman, and I am expected to bear the fruit of spring despite surviving the coldest days of winter. Come now, show us your beauty, we want to sit in your shade and feel your comfort, but we will leave when your leaves fall and your branches have nothing to provide for us.

In these moments I am withered and fall onto the ground. Here I am held by the foundation below me and comforted by the words of so many women that built the solid ground for me to lay on.

There are some who come with matches, unaware of the risk that they carry. They see the resource and set fire to this solid ground, and I am, at times, engulfed in the flames of others.

But I am a woman, so I stand back up and I root back down and I turn my heart back towards the sun.

I feel the choice to grow new branches, to provide unconditionally, to hear the whispers in the wind once again.

Perhaps there will be someone who admires the roots and sees the embers on the ground. They will bring water expecting nothing in return.

Perhaps my branches will decide to shade them and comfort them. But it is my choice to make.

Because I am a woman, it is for me to decide.

surreal poetry

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    Written by Rachael