Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Renea Di Bella


There is a rose-colored light that lives in my body.

It’s source set deep inside my pelvis,
at the core of,
the fruit of,
the universe within me.

When I think about this light, my mouth fills with pomegranate seeds

And they burst

Spilling their juice down my chin

Staining my lips rose-colored.

One hand smeared across my mouth reveals its not just juice, its blood

It’s the blood

Of my sisters

Who they called witches

Who they called bitches
and whores and cunts and dykes and skirts and rats and he/shes and pieces of ass

The blood of my sister survivors
who’s interior light was likewise snuffed by the wicker basket of the patriarchy painted white, blinded by the privilege it gives young penis carriers to wield like a weapon

You see, sisters, our bodies are beautiful
our bodies have magic
magic is real
They just told you it wasn’t.

Those are the lies they told us. That our worth is our flesh to be devoured by sons of kings who will get distracted from their greatness if the strap of my shirt is less than 3 fingers wide.

We are told we are less likely to get hired if we wear pants, rather than a skirt, to an interview

but don’t wear a dress. If you wear a dress they may only hire you because the shape of your waist will hold their attention better than your words

We are told that some of us have more worth than others

Convinced to turn against each other by the foggy ether of privilege bestowed upon us by the patriarchs who value some of our bodies more than others based on superficial differences

because of the depth they lack.

You see, sisters, these are lies

these are lies designed to convince us to give up our light

lies designed to keep our magic shrouded behind a veil made of insecurities



lies designed to imprison us in the shadow of those who spend most of their energy vying with each other for their time in the light anyway

and underestimating us.

But here’s the thing, sisters,

pomegranate juice stains

and the energy of your light cannot be destroyed, only transformed

and harnessed.

For, just as a candle loses nothing by spreading its flame to its sister, your light is infectious. Together we can turn a candle flame into a blaze capable of burning to ash anyone and anything that seeks to extinguish us.

Leaving nothing but rose-colored light in its wake.



We find it in each other

the specific brand of magic we need to be completely free

like when it’s finally spring
and you can finally open the windows

and the sun softens your skin
like butter

And the sun softens your jaw
like a release

This is femme freedom.

Unbridled laughter




This is femme freedom.

Safety in sisterhood

Tears of laughter
Tears of sadness
Tears of pain

we share it all

This is femme freedom.

Our bodies crystallize
in their autonomy
becoming precious
and powerful

This is femme freedom.

Fire lit by standing close
to each other’s flame

This is femme freedom.
And when the sun sets

and sister moon graces us with her
arc across the sky

she reminds us we are all connected
and in our connection,


This is femme freedom. 



I am overly conscious of the passage of time

I can feel the continued revolutions
of the earth
around the sun

but at the same time
I’m standing still

feeling the patterns of history
roll over me
like the tide

I am struck with how the patterns of womxnhood
and the qualities of femininity
have always been the only powers capable of
salvaging the world
from the scraps left behind
by the conquerors

squabbling over resources that languish under abuse

and in the fading light of the afternoon
I wade into pools of that powerful femininity
and rosewater,
rich with the scents of lavender
and ginger root

I rise only to eat from a fig tree
heavy with fruit

but really, I am the fruit

and the soft caress of your hands delivers me from my anxious musings

And, as I suck honey from your bottom lip,

you dip me in sugar
and I dissolve into you.


The duality of
a moon in Gemini

At once, both light and dark,
gentle as morning rain,
intense, like a hurricane.

I am fluid
but everything in balance.

Vibrant in my darkness, I am
explosive in my power,
velvety in my warmth.

Like allowing yourself to be swept away
in the undercurrent
just for the pleasure
of that first gasp of air.

I am the air in your lungs.



The moon is full
to bursting

She calls to me
with a voice as soft
as toffee
as sweet
as cream

In her voice
the pull of the universe

The ebb and flow
of my soul’s darkest matter
as it stretches thin across the great divide

On one side
feminine moon

with her mysterious glow
pregnant with the manifestations
only possible through her sacred womanhood

On the other side
masculine sun


holding within its core
the building blocks of life itself

the spark of the eternal flame

Everything is in balance

and, in this balance, freedom.

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