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There could be 525,600 days in a year
And they would never be enough
To carry the magnitude
Of the always changing river of gratitude
For the unknowable creature that is
Against all odds + laws +misogy-nois
A woman.
But in this year
A year both lost + also ever-present; unshakeable
We sit humbly at the feet
Of those who have done more with less
Than they should ever have had to labor
In a world that says .70 cents is a favor
And equality aspirational, not owed or payable.
To those who have mothered
To those who have daughtered
To those who have partnered
To those who have transitioned
To those who have offered friendship
To those who have held space when they themselves must
Contort to move in a world that says, "Be smaller still, just sit."
Their discomfort with our existence a yoke + the bit.
To those who have suffered + lost
To those deemed essential but told to fuck off
To those who have offered what they themselves thirsted for
To those who have had taken from them at immeasurable cost
To those who have risen when they longed to be lost; gone
To those who have fought when blood weeps from the pavement on the streets
To those who yell to a void that still never wakes from its sleep.
To the mothers whose sons played too visibly while alive
To the grandmother whose grandson jogged too comfortably to survive
To the wife whose husband stood too tall in a line
Demanding to breathe while calling for his mother's goodbye.
To the mother whose son ate skittles with too much gall
A sweatshirt to blame for humanities unbearable fall
To the woman whose man slept too peacefully in his car
To the love of his life who slept too comfortably to hear shots at all.
To the mothers who brave the coyotes + fight
For their daughters + sons hunted like deer in the night
To the elder young girls parenting those in frozen cages
To the madres screaming to judges, "Donde estan mis babies?"
To the women with blood-rouge hand prints on their faces
To the elders cradling their land from settlers grazing
To the women who long to be women unafraid of men
Who view their full embodiment as a threat to their klan.
To the women whose tears + cries for justice
Continue to fertilize + destabilize the soil
Of a world still unimagined + bloodless
The whisper of a promise; hope of what could be
Bearing fruit from their loins they know they will never eat.
To the women, I say.
To the women, I cry.
To the women, I bow.
For the unknowable creature that is
Against all odds + laws +misogy-nois
A woman.
About The Author
Martha Cecilia Ovadia (Marci) has worked for more than 15 years in service of the work of justice and liberation for all across multiple sectors, including local government, academia, academic publishing and the philanthropic sector. She has significant experience in racial equity education and facilitation, organizational decolonization and healing implementation, as well as an extensive portfolio in philanthropic equity-focused strategic communications and community storytelling.
Her communications and consulting firm, La Libertad Consulting, seeks to work collaboratively with others on the most imperative work in philanthropy: the decolonization of the sector through forging unwavering commitments and collaborations with other like-minded philanthropists to do explicitly anti-racist, anti-misogynistic, anti-xenophobic, anti-homophobic and anti-ableist work. Marci is a 2020 Frank Karel Communications Scholar, an Honorary Alumni of The Funders Network PLACES Fellowship and a Miami Pinnacle Award winner for community leadership.
A Colombian-American California native temporarily housed in Miami, Marci spends her free time working with local rescue animals, advocating for immigrant rights and the rights of the incarcerated in her community and she is an outspoken activist across multiple platforms for women’s rights and the destigmatization of mental health issues and for sexual assault survivors.