Protect Her

Poem-Praryer for the Small Self. An invitation for you to write your own version.

A poem, a prayer for the little self. (It’s also an invitation for you to write your own version. If you do write your own version, please tag me. I would love to read and share it!)

The time the hairdresser thought I was a boy.

Protect Her.
From the glow of the screen,
From voices, disembodied,
telling her how to live, think, look, eat.

Protect Her.
From disenchantment,
From losing connection to her foremothers,
From losing sight of another world possible.

Protect Her.
The imagination and the longing that live in her heart
are meant to expand and make the longing of others feel less isolating.

Disrupt her distractions,
her numbing tactics,
her following a stream of
another origin.

Protect her.
The spirit, the softness of the heart.
Her abundant laughter
and her more abundant tears.

Protect her.
From cold hands,
from hushed voices of shame.
From a sense that she might deserve to be and stay invisible.

Protect her.
The poems that she makes up for you at 6 AM.
The dances in the corridor with a broom.
The jumping from sofa to floor,
to sofa again, as the downstairs neighbor comes to complain.

Take her tiny, soft, squishy hand,
dance and swirl to her favorite song.
Then fall into the snow, after you both sled down the hill.
Patroned by pines.

Play, read, adventure, laugh, cry, sleep, eat, and listen, by the kitchen table, to the old radio show about astrology, after a long bath on Sunday evening.

Allow her life to retain
as much enchantment as possible.

It might save her.

---

Much love, Rūta xx