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poetry

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Minerals I am Made Of

Motherhood

I’m afraid. I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being misunderstood. I’m afraid  the pearl will never form inside this shell.  The minerals I am made of— how will they solidify my pittance of wisdom, bring forth the revolution? But these are the fears  of a caucasian  the world-is-my-oyster crustacean, of a white  female  homemaker.  I have traveled, I have written, I have swam in ocean’s waters while fires burned.  While hands and hearts lay bare on[...]