By Bethany Webster
In my blood there is poetry
In my blood are ancient stories
You are there, too, my sister
The red line all the way back to the beginning
A red thread I hold onto for days every month
A red path that appears beneath my feet
A red echo I hear through my inner yearning
My punctuated flow is the steady tempo of a drumbeat
That life plays through me
The drumbeat that is played in the bodies of women
Across the planet
The drumbeat of all of us bleeding is the heartbeat of the earth
We are Gaia’s heart in perfect timing with the tides
That keep the earth turning
Woman, we must rise up
Removing the veil of shame
We are ancient
We who trace the red line
We who hold the red thread
We are She in whom courses the river of humanity As sacred as the highest temple
The holiest of chalices
The spiraling path of birth and death
The womb is a cradle of both
We are a gate between worlds
© 2012 Bethany Webster