2000 women camped on the banks of the river that nourished the nation. They wove their hair into brown and gold and
black and red halos, singing lullabies to the ways of their mothers. Raising their palms to the sun, they caught fire,
balancing it as air slightly above them, then cleansed and warmed themselves in its heat and its light as they dropped
their hands and let it melt upon them as golden lotion.
2000 women built homes on the banks of the river that flowed through the heart of their nation. They furnished their
homes with honey candles and cinnamon incense, herb- laced windows, and all tables were round. When men came from cities
or woods or deserts, 2000 women responded only to desire tempered by gentleness and generosity. On this, 2000 women would
not compromise. And this was their love.
When the men slept in rose petal beds, 2000 women would go to their children's rooms, lift them in their dreams, and
carry them to the banks of the river. As the men slept in the homes and the children slept in their mothers' arms, 2000
women raised their voices to the moon and caught its fire, balancing it as air slightly above them: They sang moonfire.
Under the moonfire of the singing mothers, the women with no children in their arms danced. They danced.
With moonfire drenching them, they danced. Sweating with dance, they tenderly took the children from the mothers and
cradled them as if they were their own. Then the mothers danced. With moonfire drenching them and in the honeysuckle
breath of their sleeping children, the mothers danced. Carefully taking the children from the arms of their sisters, the
mothers replaced their new ones in their beds. Leaving their homes again, the mothers returned to their patient sisters.
2000 women stood on the banks of the river
that nourished the nation, and at the hour that
is not night
is not day,
2000 women raised their magnetic hands
and in unison
pulled the sun out of hiding,
lifting it slowly,
dispelling the darkness
with the magic of passion: