I am my mother’s savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot, Cursing sharp stones, I am my mother’s savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice.
My mother’s child is a savage, She looks for her omens in the colors of stones, In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers, In the dancing of fire, In the curve of old bones.
My mother’s child dances in darkness, She sings heathen songs, By the light of the moon, And watches the stars and renames the planets, And dreams she can reach them, With a song and a broom…
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