Hey, freedom –
my mom told me ’bout you
when I was just a young girl.
She filled my eyes with dreams,
whispering in my ear that you and I
would do magical things.
She was so young – but a babe herself –
strapped with four children, a mortgage
and a husband who controlled.
She didn’t know you personally,
she’d only seen the women rising up from complacency and housewifedom
all her young life.
She couldn’t have known how to be with you.
She chose a life for me before she ever had a taste of you.
And her mother never taught her, and her mother and her mother….
And now, here I am, with you
-a woman and her freedom-
wondering how the hell to dance with you.
I’m tripping on your toes, freedom.
I’m stepping on my too-long dress.