You are my guide, from the womb to the soil in which

my cremated remains will hug and embrace with the same deep thought

as when I was a child in which you were my teacher,

when I was the teenage boy in whose arms I wanted to hold you with

and kiss you gently,

to the middle aged man in which I have become

and in which you are the one I strive

to be equal to, you are my guide.

 

From the grandmother with unseen feminist principals,

to you who gave me life,

the three adopted sisters I proudly call my own,

the two adopted daughters

the teachers, lecturers, friends, nurses,

comforting companions on the dangerous wander,

the drinking partner,

the girl at school who wanted to play football

and who I applauded so loudly, the best student I ever saw

and the woman who knew about the supposed game of life

than I could learn in several meagre existences.

 

You are my guide, the other half of what should be

and why would we not want to embrace that part

to its fullest, it makes no sense to ignore the words of a willing teacher

just because their gender doesn’t match with your own,

is akin to despise someone because they pray to a God

who looks nothing like you,

you are my guide, you are woman

and everyday I thank my soul for recognising that

we were all women once.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015.