Home Poetry Slaying Dragons

My grandmother was a dragon slayer,
her hair silver and steel
solid as her resolve
a master’s degree, a career
before that was an option
while men marched to war
she made war on enemies at home
and never gave up command.
A lady, immaculate and pressed
half dragon herself, sipping
tea from china cups, living
beyond what was possible.
My mother is a dragon slayer,
long hair swinging,
with each stroke, face tanned
by sun and laughter
where she made abundance
out of rocks and clay with magic
ancient as the womb
and from the bones of world eaters
wove a world where her girls
knew dreams were real and dragons
those too, but women: women were made
to slay them.

The extraordinary thing is not
the beasts they slew, the world
they saved. Mothers all of us
daughters of Mary, sisters
of Mother Jesus, with Julian,
and Eve, giving battle-birth
to a world we dreamed.
Unafraid, unflagging, we
wear their teeth across our chest
playthings for our children.
Weeds, they rise again, so
each new generation picks up
her sword, her shield, sets
her face and tells her daughters
“Watch, watch and see
how these old steps go
and when I fall, take up
the dance for me. Rejoicing
that you were made for this
brave enough: to slay the dragons.”

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