I slog through muck, a sticky mix of wrongs that reign. I protest. I carry with me no sign, only one lone woman’s heart-scream. I side-step puddles, fearful of taking on more dampness, darkness, dread, doubt, despair. And yet And yet In a stagnant pool of tomorrow’s rain I see, within its waters, reflected the howl of another woman’s rage. Despite myself, I hope.