Counterpoint

A little hippie in me
and a lotta' tomboy
left over, inside,
from yesteryear.
Ain't plannin' on
givin' 'em up --
they're my backbone,
my grit,
my shimmer,
my color --
manly certainty
of my femininity;
they're the earth beneath my feet,
the flowers that bow in the rain,
feast of tones and shades,
nerve and gall.
I will stand my ground,
stomp my feet,
shake my hair,
clank some bracelets,
and howl into the wind
whenever survival
calls.