Superstorm (a poem of feminist rage) by Trelawney Grenfell-Muir


Sometimes it whirls together, a superstorm of pain and despair,
and the shittiness of it all is just too damned much to bear

girls and women beaten, raped, abused, and all you nice guys don’t care
and my little daughter starts saying how she doesn’t want underarm hair

it’s weird, she said, and I know none of the tv women have any
because one goddamn sign of humanity in females is too many

and the amount of makeup my other little girl is wearing is uncanny
almost every villain in Disney is basically a strong granny

when men do the dishes, they want a goddamn medal
they choose not to see all the ways we have to settle

how much sexism must I silently absorb today, dear?
how much unnamed violence, ‘cause you never want to hear

my body carries scars of hundreds of male fears
as they used me and abused me, and then gifted me their tears

But my tears didn’t heal, some of them still bleed
They can’t find a place to hide from the violent male greed

Pulsing through our culture, devouring my daughters
Thinning them up slowly for inevitable slaughters

Coming for the last vestiges left of my soul
If they had their way, I’d be nothing but a hole

Receptacles for rape, that’s how this culture sees us
Pounding in the nails, crucifying female Jesus

On their phallic crosses, phallic gods, phallic words and comments
And if progressives say “Lord” again, I swear I’m gonna vomit

All those woke progressive men, with their smug, self-righteousness
Mansplaining the porn industry is empowering and harmless

And I’m the problem, don’t you know, it’s feminists like me
Who are just too hard on poor little men, why can’t I let them be?

What’s my problem anyway, my doomin’ and my gloomin’
It all makes sense when you realize females aren’t human

OK, assholes, but you’ll never kill me with your lies.
I’m might still go down fighting. But afterwards I’ll rise.  

You still don’t get it, do you? I’m so much more than me
I’m in each X chromosome, and in every star and tree

In each vagina, every womb, every milky breast
In every groan of labor, and every final rest

She is me, and I am SHE, and we’ve already won
WE are stronger, WE endure, beyond the sword and gun

WE are birthing, even now, a realm you cannot see
WE are mighty, sacred, fearsome… and
WE
ARE
FREE.

(Note: This is a poem of overall experience, and has nothing to do with my wonderfully pro-feminist husband.)

 

Trelawney Grenfell-Muir  teaches courses about Sex, Dating, Marriage, and Work in the Religion and Theological Studies Department at Merrimack College and about Cross Cultural Conflict in the Department of Conflict Resolution, Human Security, and Global Governance at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. A Senior Discussant at the Religion and the Practices of Peace Initiative at Harvard University, she holds an M.Div. from the Boston University School of Theology with a concentration in Religion and Conflict, and a Ph.D. in Conflict Studies and Religion with the University Professors Program at Boston University. Previously a fellow at the Institute of Culture, Religion, and World Affairs and at the Earhart Foundation, Grenfell-Muir has conducted field research in situations of ongoing conflict in Syria, Lebanon, and Northern Ireland.  Her dissertation explores the methodology, constraints, and effectiveness of clergy peacebuilders in Northern Ireland. She has been an invited speaker in community settings and at MIT, Boston University, Tufts, and Boston College on topics of gender violence, economic injustice, and religious or ethnic conflicts and has also moderated panels on genetic engineering, cloning, and other bioethics issues. She currently writes articles, book chapters, and liturgical resources about feminist, nature-based Christianity.

27 thoughts on “Superstorm (a poem of feminist rage) by Trelawney Grenfell-Muir”

  3. Thanks Natalie, so good where you say: “I have found myself often returning to that little bit of wisdom.” And that precious “little bit” reminds me also of all sorts of deep, wonderful haiku. Here’s one I love by a Japanese nun, Chiyo-ni (born 1703) — and where she says —

    “To tangle or
    untangle the willow —
    it’s up to the wind.”

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. Thank you, Barbara. From Celtic Awen all the way to rage… poems have such a range, don’t they? <3

      Like

      Reply

  5. And thank you so much Trelawney! And so important where you say, “but my tears didn’t heal, some of them still bleed.” Regards our anger — our Feminist Rage — I left that anger behind one day, and simply refused to let sexism exhaust me any further. Truly that seems to me the best defense and healthiest answer we can have. And maybe even the most productive.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Thank you, Fran! I’m so glad you found a path to balanced wellness. That’s wonderful! I find if I let my rage wash in and wash out, I am able to leave it behind and move forward. So whenever it comes, I allow it to wash in, then wash out. Like grief – because really, rage and grief are often the same thing. Bless your journey. <3

      Liked by 3 people

      Reply

      1. I really like the phrase: “to wash in, then wash out.” Could be the touchstone of another poem . . . or a mantra, even. (t reminds me of a wave.)

        Liked by 1 person

        Reply

      2. Sharon, thank you. A wise woman taught me this years ago, and I agree, it is like ocean waves, washing up on the shore, then receding. It helps me enormously. A poem sounds like a great idea, thanks for thinking of it. <3

        Like

        Reply

  6. What a powerful poem. Every word has meaning and emotion and a cry for justice. I’m going to read it out LOUD again now!! And again, and again. Thank you, Sister, so much.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. Thank you, Diana! Bless you!! It really helps me to write something like this so there is a container for this feeling – so when I feel this feeling again, I can pull up this poem and read it, and that makes space for the feeling to wash in and be honored. When I’m good and ready, the feeling washes out again, and I can move on to other feelings and ideas, and so rage doesn’t feel like ALL there is, doesn’t take over my life. I am reading it with you, sister!!! Thank you for reading it with me!! Thank you for walking with me along this road, through this valley! Bless your journey. <3 <3

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  7. I just read it out loud. And I will read it again! It is powerful and true and connects me to you all. Thank you, beautiful friend <3

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. Thank you so much, beloved friend. It is always an infinite and precious blessing to have you beside me and connected to me as we journey on together. Love and power to you. <3 <3 <3

      Like

      Reply

    1. Thank you, Sara!!! Sometimes we just need to roar and release dragon fire and burn it all down. <3 <3 <3

      Like

      Reply

  9. By the way I am so heartbroken by these words because they scream out against the next generation of young women who are trying to grow up in this culture of woman hatred without having ACCESS to a body they could love:

    Pulsing through our culture, devouring my daughters
    Thinning them up slowly for inevitable slaughters

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Yes, exactly… it’s a daily battle to fend off the deluge of misogyny our culture inundates them with… it’s so very, very sick and horrifying. we live in a dystopian nightmare. <3 :(

      Like

      Reply

Please familiarize yourself with our Comment Policy before posting.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.