Menu
Cymraeg
Contact

“know how grateful women are that you, Athika, are who you are.”

 

They sow words to shrink us: overbearing,

troublesome, bitch

their sad currency of swipes, faces in darkness, 

splinters of spite. Those words:

Hysterical, mad harridan —

like endometriosis —   all the bloody 

cells of hate migrating. 

 

We are undervalued, side-lined, downtrodden, trolled,

stalked, hounded, harassed, vilified,

Murdered.

We who survived the burning times.

 

With our painted smiles, we are pretty dolls,

temptresses at barely thirteen, force-fed lies.

They call us underage women when something’s at stake,

when girls or children would incriminate.

We are girls when fully fledged woman scares them,

when we refuse to bend, refuse to smile

but the fuse is sparking

electric. 

 

We are ungovernable embers. We are exotic fruits.

We will always be here, telling our truth.

 

They want to give us a day they say — 24 hours of praise —

then they bare pointed teeth. We are valued only

by the shape of our hips, these gates shut with chains

that they will hammer open.

Still, we stand.

 

They call us witches: flesh so repulsive, they never stop

talking about the stench. But remember: a woman birthed

you. Gave you life. We descend from silenced

healers, caretakers, timorous creatures walking in shadow,

gathering courage from flowers, blooming like magnolias. 

 

We are furious magic. We are Shapeshifters.

We are the noise that starts when whispers fail,

More powerful than the syllables of spite they spit

when night snakes its way around their necks.

 

They call us woke when we sing our sisters time in the sun, 

stand by them rather than standby, Sisyphus calling

out Zeus. Their language is not mine.

 

They do not care for our blends, our depths, our agency. 

They call us only womb, vessel, man-haters, rape-faker. 

They call us Qamar, a borrowed light. 

We are mouths full of feathers, taught not to spit,

dragging pain by the hair across generations.

Taught to stay quiet in the face of violence,

to close our mouths not our legs, 

to shrink when threats are large.

 

Cut

our autonomy from our anatomy,

tell us to stuff our bleeding

racket with silence – I’ll show them hysteria

when I’m in the ground laughing.

 

They do not know we are sweet peas: the more they cut

us back,  the stronger we grow. Tear their words

to little pieces, throw them like confetti.

 

They call our kindness a stain,

ond mewn gofal y mae grym, 

yn ei goddefgarwch hi

y mae’r gân.

 

Don’t tell me who, what or how I am…. I AM.

We are ecstasy-filled earthquakes, we demand more.

 

Now our words are many voices in one throat.

 

We are the backbone, showing our daughters how

to celebrate each other.

 

We don’t exist for you.

Our thick skin stretches all the way back 

to your mother’s arms, to your wife’s bed,

your daughter’s handprints 

pressed into paint and palmed onto paper. 

 

When I stop, and listen, feel my skin, hear my breath, 

I think of all my foremothers, and yours

making us possible. Find your ground.  Hold it. 

Embrace the murmuration, of women who weave

bowline knots. Secure the line. We are flowers 

that have known the weight of drought

and still dare to bloom.

 

There are tides in us they will never draw back 

but the moon guides those lost in the dark. 

Strongly stitched, 

we knit

into and out of one another.

When the sludge threatens to weigh us down,          women like Athika rise.

 

Words By

(in order of appearance)

Sophie Herxheimer

Emma Baines

Allison Hulmes

Adele Evershed

Rebecca Parfitt

Natasha Gauthier

Wendy Booth

Cath Little

Jennifer Powell

Lesley Herbert

Kit Habianic

Gemma June Howell

Jane Campbell

Rebecca Lowe

Anna Sherratt

Abi Norton Morgan

Mari Ellis Dunning

Zoe Brigley

Alice Willitts

Aileen Angsutorn Lees

Rhian Elizabeth

Alice Nuttall

Catherine Taylor

Jemma L. King

Julie Richards

Lucy Aur

Jane Killingbeck

Beth Edwards

Sophia Argyris

Lauren Middleton

Catrin Mari

Gail Webb

Christina Henneman

Llinos Dafydd

Carolyn Thomas

Karen Pierce Gonzalez

Leigh Manley

Sarah Rowland Jones

Emma Smith-Barton

Mary Kaye

Hanan Issa

Natalie Ann Holborrow

Jade E. Bradford

Ansa Memon

Rebecca Parfitt

Hannah Gathercole

Bethany Handley

Durre Shahwar

Rakyah Assam

Casi Wyn

Gwyneth Lewis

Ness Owen

Amanda Lyon

Tracey Rhys

Gosia Buzzanca

Sarah Persson

Sifani Hassan

clare potter

Back to Hanan Issa’s Commissioned Poems and Creative Work