A Lost Poem About Brave Women

A Never Seen Typewriter Series #3098

When I stopped posting new poetry on the social medias, I didn’t stop writing. I never stopped writing, and I never will. Now, with this beautiful place continuing to take shape every week, every month, and with the posting and sharing of brand new, never-before-read typewriter series poetry every week, I’m stumbling across a literal treasure trove of poetry that has never seen the light of day. Some of these are over 3 years old, some older, some newer, and they area scattered about in note files at random. I remember writing them, I remember all the emotion that led to these words finding their way onto scraps of paper, I just haven’t had a chance to share them.

It’s a beautiful thing to feel comfortable sharing them here, now, with you. To know that they are finding your eyes and not getting lost in the shuffle of the algorithm, as this is why I created this place to begin with. I wanted a haven, a respite from the endless scrolling, a bit of space for longer form writing, for those who want to read the words, and understand the thought behind them.

Today’s poem is almost 3 years old, written after the United States pulled the last of the troops out of Afghanistan. After the Taliban swept back in, like clockwork, only minutes after we did so. After they banned education for women, imposed penalties severe on any woman that refused to wear a hijab or that had any evidence of having received education. I remember how angry I was, how afraid for them, I remember wondering if anything would ever truly change over there. I wonder it still, as every morning Sarah and I wake up we put on Montana Public Radio. I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t almost always about the war in Israel, about bombs in Palestine, Lebanon, about Iran, about innocent women and children and bystanders being slaughtered by the thousands. 3 years and we’re still having the same sad conversations, still listening to talking heads perched in comfy seats live on some news channel, talking about how to fix it, talking about those we’re losing every day.

This poem is about that, about how a few of those Afghan refugees ended up coming to Helena, Montana, and Sarah and I were so lucky and honored to help them get set up here, to find a home and start over again. I thought about the strange political divide that caused even in our small town here, how some were so angry we were helping. I think now about Trump’s immediate proposed travel ban from any country he thinks isn’t worthy of our care, this country who used to open its arms freely and offer shelter to those that were forced to run.

Anyway, that’s what this is, this poem about those brave women who had to set fire to their diplomas so the Taliban wouldn’t have any additional cause to hurt them. About the women who still refused to wear their hijab, despite the consequences, about the women who held the signs, knowing what it would mean. Brave in a way we don’t understand, in a way we haven’t had to.

The poem is below, and below that is the audio version of that poem. I really hope you like this journey through all this brand new poetry. It’s an amazing feeling finally getting to share it with you all. If you’d like to be the first to read it, and to receive the audio versions as well, we’d love to have you, it truly keeps this place going, and it’s worth every penny. I promise you that.

And as per usual, here is the audio version that I always feel silly recording, but will keep doing cause you’re all rad and I love you.

Have a beautiful weekend, I’ll see you all Sunday.