by Wyndreth Berginsdottir, 1990

Note: The last chorus uses ‘we’ instead of ‘I’

I am my mother’s savage daughter,
the one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones.
I am my mother’s savage daughter,
I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice.

My mother’s child is a savage,
She looks for her omens in the colors of stones,
In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers,
In the dancing of fire, in the curve of old bones.

My mother’s child dances in darkness,
And sings heathen songs by the light of the moon,
And watches the stars and renames the planets,
And dreams she can reach them with a song and a broom.

My mother’s child curses too loud, too often,
My mother’s child laughs too hard and too long,
And howls at the moon and sleeps in ditches,
And raises her voice to the words in this song.

We are brought forth out of darkness,
Into this world through blood and through pain,
And deep in our bones, the old songs are waking,
So sing them with voices of thunder and rain.

We are our mother’s savage daughters,
The ones who run barefoot cursing sharp stones.
We are our mother’s savage daughters,
We will not cut our hair, We will not lower our voice