The Hopi people believe they were birthed
From the womb of the earth
A canyon grand and gaping
On Mother Earth herself
Red rocks spread out like a blanket across all the temples
So red, in fact, they make the water look like blood

Her mighty and towering walls of sandstone, limestone, and shale
Reach to the heavens, arms stretched for miles
The Hopi don’t go there unless a special ceremony is performed
With medicine men and women giving blessings, saying prayers, asking favors
Perhaps so few return because they remember birth is painful

But I am not afraid of her – those red lips so inviting
I pause upon them cautious, joyous, my senses reeling
Knowing what only a woman can know
The more gentle the touch, the more pleasure to be had
I slip into her depths reverently, with one wish
To experience her completely

She opens to me, sharing her hidden secrets
I explore her hungrily, already knowing what I will find
But she fills me with surprise and pleasure nonetheless
So swollen is she with life, timeless gifts for all to behold and protect
I express my intense gratitude for the miracle of her
Knowing that I am blessed to behold and possess her
If even for such a brief interlude

Leaving her is painful, an uphill journey I savor to the end
Sure that I will feel her effects on me for days
Each step a reminder of how she pleasured me
Romanced me, seduced me, took me over
We share now a common bond, an eternal secret
That we are each strong, resilient, and somehow ageless
We are Canyon Women