Poem from Amy Bornmans workshop

White wall speckled like eggs

With dreams

Sorrow

Ailments

Definitions

Who we are, as women.

White wall graffiti

- more faery

- less shepherd

magic of motherhood

Birther of invisible lines

Ties generations.

Our sanity strung from the ceiling

A room full of lore,

As the middle school girls say.

Prequel, they all assume

But we are still children, too.

Into our next phase

Exploring

And still curious

Aimee