a precarious balance
she’s striving to be a sacred text
but remains the nursery rhyme
falling off the wall
coming tumbling after
her back is a trappstegsforsen—a staircase of ordeals, sensitive to the touch
she is sitting on a bonfire
and the wives and mothers dance around its base
their hands joined in feminine rite of passage
the flames of traditional expectation lick around her
her words come out scorched, melting her resolve
she is in headstand on the top of the mountain
built on deep layers of watching, listening, teaching, learning, crafting, distilling
it is always a precarious balance
an ongoing aspiration, an individual pursuit
the wind whistles commiserations around her
and in the distance a mob of women carry their families uphill