"'I am my mother's savage daughter, the one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones. I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice. My mother's child is a savage, She looks for her omens in the colours of stones, In the faces of cats, in the fall of feathers, In the dancing of fire and the curve of old bones. My mother's child dances in darkness, And sings heathen songs by the light of the moon, And watches the stars and renames the planets, And dreams she can reach them with a song. My mother's child curses too loud and too often, My mother's child laughs too hard and too long, And howls at the moon and sleeps in ditches, And clumsily raises her voice in this song. Now we all are brought forth out of darkness and water, Brought into this world through blood and through pain, And deep in our bones, the old songs are wakened, So sing them with voices of fervor and pain. We are our Mother's savage daughters...'"

-