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by Mary Saracino Howling from the mountaintops wailing from the riverbanks scooping the moon into their waning wombs the old women know that lies kill, distortions maim, hope isn’t enough to feed starving babies, school the ignorant, put and end to war. Like Furies, the old ones rise, clench their furious fists against the blazing…

I am mad. No, that doesn’t begin to describe it. I am pissed. I am angry. I am irate. I am incensed. I am enraged. I am livid. I am FURIOUS. “All men are created equal,” states the Declaration of Independence. From the very beginning, women were denied equality in this country. It has taken…

A poem by Mary Saracino Mary Saracino is a novelist, poet and memoir-writer who lives in Denver , Colorado. This compassionate and articulate sister Queen calls herself Queen Mary Immaculata. A single day in April isn’t enough to honor our Mother, save the planet that is her body, restore her ocean womb, revitalize the atrophied…

I received this gem via email almost ten years ago. I immediately tracked down the source, obtained permission, and arranged to print it in the next issue of Always in Season, which went out of print in 2006. As it turned out, it was bumped for space and placed into the basket of ideas accumulating…
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