From under muddy plastic sheeting
tenting over a sapling tree
Jo Freemantle can see
anxious bailiffs and
their nuclear stiff ballistics’
cynical stare
Like a mountain
she will lay limp to stop them
still they will drag her bodily
shred the women’s peace camp
every single rain or shine day
for the twelve years she is there
‘Greenham common women’ cursed on telly
for leaving their babies at home
disgracing themselves tied to fences
fingers entwined being crazy
choiring antidotes to war
like vital thrushes
With silty firepit sisterkin
even now at 73
Jo changes everything
Indigo-Line Mudgoddess
a rainbow name to refuse
to be her father’s daughter
She says that houses don’t need wives
but the world needs women
to reveal Emperor nudity
old and strong like a mountain
she goes on and on
and on
