The Outlaw Sisters of CNY

Whoa, hey! Bunch of outlaw
wimmin in Adirondack foothills
slingin'their six-shooters,  ridin' bareback
into the water,  lake's fingers.

They rifle poems, slather paints,
weave stories with word and loom,
slap the clay down like a bottom line,
snap a camera to reveal the sharpest detail.
Who are these wimmin who travel in a pack
or a pride or a posse?They got each others'
back. They lift a glass together as the year
wanes to close:

for the children, the hungry, for those who
fist-fight dirty with cancer, for the faithful
who  keep one ear to the ground to hear God's whisper.
For the  jobless poets, the starving artists, and
the solitary practitioners,  for mothers of soldiers,
mothers who 've buried a baby. For those who never had one.

For unpublished Pulitzer winners, the unseen masters
whose work shines in  basement or back- room darkness,
for the musicians who play an empty room.
For the elders among  us,  genealogists who root us,
 teachers who husband future for our youth
(dontcha think it should be "wife" it??)

Whoa, hey! These are my sisters, bitch!
Not payin' their dues?
says who?Www.rachaelikins.com
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