Praise our choices, sister, for each doorway open to us was taken by squads of fighting women who paid years of trouble and struggle, who paid their wombs, their sleep, their lives that we might walk through these gates upright. Doorways are sacred to women for we are the doorways of life and we must choose what comes in and what goes out. Freedom is our real abundance.

The powerful don't make revolutions

We must shine with hope, stained glass windows that shape light into icons, glow like lanterns borne before a procession. Who can bear hope back into the world but us.

Remember that every son had a mother whose beloved son he was, and every woman had a mother whose beloved son she wasn't.

The price of seeing is silence.

i find it easy to admire in trees what depresses me in people

Pain is a forcing sieve that turns me to gruel.