if secrets are not spoken, will they silence a woman forever?

               

she holds her life source close

like a seed
nourished by pine fed duff
able to root anywhere

she holds her belongs safe

in a knapsack
slung on her back
journals and black pens
survival gear

she carries her seeds of life

on the tip of a black gel pen
strokes the pages chock-full
seals the covers
unread
rarely shared

are secrets lies?