We thought the glass ceiling would shatter. It didn’t, but it cracked. Now, rain water will seep through to nourish the flowers, today’s young women, who need to keep their stems and roots strong in soil that has been tainted by bitterness and greed. The Willow Trees, our mothers and mentors, will sing us songs of inspiration, as their branches reach out for water and light to feed us. Our sunshine has been blocked by a dark cloud of patriarchy, an unjust phantom of values past who wants to keep out our light. But the cloud will move, and the phantom will soon rest. The light will return, and poetic justice will win.
Now, until the phantom rests and the dark cloud dissipates, we must protect ourselves in greenhouses of love. We will find light, even if we must make our own, and the cloud will fizzle into particles that feed the growing grass, warmed by the sun’s light. May our poets, artists, and scholars create our light, burn holes in the cloud to help the light seep in. We are stronger than the cloud.