Throne

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photo credit: Laurent Peignault

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You call this a communal, collective, egalitarian place
 
I call it a vicious battleground
          upon it we vie for my dead father’s throne 

The one you occupy now 
        carving your self righteousness into weathered wood
Shouting over me
       when I claim blood-right, birthright 
under stifled breath
       insinuating if anyone wears Dad’s crown 
              it will be me 

I learned from the best

You puff out your chest 
         frightening my fledgling self righteousness away

You cite propriety, hardship, life’s work 

Thrown, I retreat to my secret place
I fawn
I relent

Licking my wounds
Waiting for a sign
Listening for a whisper

"Comparison is the thief of joy" 

You will not take mine

Joy springs from within me 
       like meadow wildflowers
             following rain 
like clean dirt and fresh leaves 

Renewal 
as ancient 
as the story of ponderosa pines
imprinting on me 
       and me on them

My chubby, sap-sticky hands 
       making forever whorls on their skin
Their interlocking bark
      making my fingers’ first memories 

And the land beneath us
all around us 
within us

At the heart of every argument
       is the land 
A spirit
An entity unto herself

My commitment is to Her 
and Her alone

You and I are not friends
We are not equals
We are not united in purpose
though once-upon-a-time we pretended to be

You will not steal my joy

I will not let my personhood 
       be spun into shame

I will not be silenced by 
       misogyny’s meanness
I will not be intimidated by the way
you wield it
fling it around 
      its ugly tail snapping a whip's stinging song

You expect me to cower
as I did when I was a child in your house
       and you stood over your own children—my friends—
a leather belt in your hands

The day will come
It’s almost here
      peeking over the horizon 

I’ll walk away,
shoulders back,
head high
nothing in my hands
not money, nor title, nor deed

Leaving you with the throne 
gloating
giddy from the spoils of war

Leaving me with nothing 
smiling
pine sap flowing through my veins

a nothing that’s everything 
and more

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