Can the labels please stop

I was part
Of the first wave
Of women ordained

Now we are an ocean
With octopi
And squid
And spiny starfish.
You name 'em
We are here.
Like it or not
We are here.

Can the labels
Please stop
We are not cans
Of soup.
Never were.
Never will be.

Mandolin

For years I played
The guitar
Now I hear the mandolin
In every song
It sounds
Around the edges
It rings
Even when
It doesn't.
I have put new strings
On both
Of my guitars
Still
The mandolin
Calls to me.

Walking stick

The hickory walking stick
Stands in the corner
Surrounded by birds.
It reminds me
To collect the people
Around me
Who can help me walk.
The birds
Are there
To remind me
I can fly.
 

As others share their work

As hearts were shared
My heart broke
And broke
And broke
Again
I thought I only
Had one
But it seems I have one
Per person
One
Per occasion
And then another
Comes along
Meets me on the path

The cat growls

Inherent
In her jungle nature
The long-haired tortoise-shell cat
Sits by the front window
Growls at the van
Which has just pulled up
Across the street.
There are men
In the van.
Men
May come here.
Men
Are not to be trusted.
Now the cat
Sits
Halfway
Up
The stairs.
Growls.
She is still related
To those cats
In the jungle
She
Herself
Was rescued
In the woods
By a young woman.

No immediate melt

First full snow
The winter is counted
In snows
Real snows
Not those meager
Dustings
These are the snows
Which require
A shovel
A snowplow
No immediate
Melt.

In between

When I set out
I had no idea
Mine was
To serve
In between.
It seemed in between
Occupied
A liminal space
Undefined
Unknown
People offered boxes
I might occupy
None of them
Fit.
Here I am
Behind the wild currant door
I figure the next
Liminal space
Undefined
Unknown
In between.