The Red Line

by Bethany Webster


In my blood there is poetry

In my blood are ancient stories

You are there, too, my sister

The red line all the way back to the beginning

A red thread I hold onto for days every month

A red path that appears beneath my feet

A red echo I hear through my inner yearning

My punctuated flow is the steady tempo of a drumbeat

That life plays through me

The drumbeat that is played in the bodies of women

Across the planet

The drumbeat of all of us bleeding is the heartbeat of the earth

We are Gaia’s heart in perfect timing with the tides

That keep the earth turning

Woman, we must rise up

Removing the veil of shame

We are ancient

We who trace the red line

We who hold the red thread

We are She in whom courses the river of humanity

As sacred as the highest temple

The holiest of chalices

The spiraling path of birth and death

The womb is a cradle of both

We are a gate between worlds

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