From the poem Woman Alone, by Gloria Anzaluda:
I remain who I am, multiple and one
of the herd, yet not of it.
I walk on the ground of my own being
browned and hardened by the ages.
I am fully formed
carved by the hands of the ancients,
drenched with the stench of today's headlines.
But my own hands whittle
the final work
Mucho gracias, Sis