The sting from making excuses—over—
No more belonging to clubs of little consequence
Those that knock the wind from high hills,
collapsing kite strings, and hope.
Once forced to plant her feet wide and squarely,
like a pugilist's,
she dared them to try and drive over her,
to try to trample her dreams,
to smash images she'd created,
once she'd built bridges and towers.
Her architecture reflected the strength created
with hands made strong from kneading bread.
