We are.

There is freedom dancing in our bones.

Liberation in our pores.

A sacred samba sizzling in our souls.

March on, my sister, march on.

We’re heading to the Promise Land.

Walk with me, my sister.

Weave your story into mine.

Our narratives can hold one another up

As this oppressive citadel is remolded.

Drums.

And singing.

Sweet singing.

“We are. We are.”

Hand in hand.

We march on.

Together.

There is freedom dancing in our bones.

Sweet freedom.

Our hands stretch to the sky.

Hands that create wonders.

Hands that mold and make.

Hands that challenge.

Here begins our dance.

“We are. We are.”

We flourish. We march.

We are.

Women.