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Darcel Hawkins

The warrior 

The warrior that has woken within me

doesn’t speak softly or step quiet

She beats her feet to the earth and battle cries her deepest hurt. 

She is water and willow 

stone and bone 

wildly magic 

and calling me home. 

Spring

There’s something familiar in that breeze 

Like the woman she lost 

Had been carried home 

Self love

 

My hands have dug deep into the dirt

Into the earth 

To plant roots of forgiveness

The words “im sorry” tumble from lips to fingertips

And I watch  

As Self love begins to grow 

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