Us women who have danced on earth with nimble feet now curled who have buried untold pain with sturdy bones now brittle who have cradled life with welcoming hearts now timid Us women are the tally of our trials the sum of our scars the wealth of our words the measure of our memories the scale of our strengths the heft of our hearts

‘Do you know this man?’ ‘Know?’ Her eyes open wide, and her fingertips touch her sternum in affronted shock. The man indicated raises an eyebrow at her. ‘Why, I’ve known you since you were born, and Mary knotted the lace for your christening gown. Of course you know me!’ She turns to him, a stiffened pillar of moral indignation. ‘Why, Sir, were one to play fast and loose with language, one might carelessly term an acquaintance, even a family friend, as such. However, on

Ashera looked over at her husband. Oh, for goodness sake I wish he’d cut his hair and beard. It doesn’t suit him and he looks messy. What is he trying to prove? Is he trying to look younger…or eternal even? He looked across at her and said ‘What?’ ‘Can you cut your beard and hair please?’ ‘No people like it like that. It’s what they expect.’ ‘Shouldn’t you be wanting to maybe do what I like for once?’ He stared at her, not understanding. It wasn’t about her. It was