In my dream, I shared my bed with two lovely women: a soft, quiet American, and a skinny, feisty German. Our children slept elsewhere, and our slumber party had taken some ingenuity to arrange. I had mad crushes on both of them, and they were helping me with a revolutionary art project. I was so smitten, I wrote a poem.
I woke to find I was really bunked down, as usual, with a squirmy toddler. But I remember the poem, and it is to ALL of you. Note:there's one "bad" word.

Rage On, Mamas!

Rage on.
Let your creative anger ring like the Liberty Bell across tomorrow.
Rage on. Never give up.
Protest.
Do good work.
Write.
Sleep.
Finger-paint.
Cook.
Eat.
Fight.
Fuck.
Make Love.

Rage on.

For the children.
For the Great Mother.
For me.
For the apathetic, who need us the most.
Rage on, even if they complain.
BECAUSE they complain.
Because we have to.
Because it all depends on us.
Because you are really sexy with Revolution in your eyes.
Rage on.