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.