The women are walking

to work, in shoes they bought
this past weekend, at the store
on the infamous boulevard/platform
of the aristocracy, knowing the click of their
heels sounds more like the victory ring of a cash
register than something (not) seen in their eyes.

The women are walking

on sidewalks in their neighborhoods
where they peer into the windows of
houses not their own, where families
not their own look different and somehow
the same.

The women are walking

in the morning, trying to lose the baby fat
they accumulated last year that their husbands
can’t help but comment on even though they
know it’s “messed up.”

The women are walking

too close to the charcoal colored pavement, also known
as the street, in hope that a drunk
driver will lose control and side swipe them, which
everyone would say “was such a tragic accident,” which
appears much easier for people to live with than
the curiosities post-suicide(s).

The women are walking

with headphones on so they can hear a chorus line
or simple ballad that makes more sense than
the morning headlines (sitting there, back on the coffee
table at home just waiting to depress the hell out of anyone
and everyone).

The women are walking

on hiking trails in the forest, instead of aisles in church
because g*d in the trees and on the moss is more accessible
these days than God at the altar, in the cup and bread, or living
vicariously through some middle age priest who fucks women
half his age while preaching grace.

The women are walking

in the downtowns, with signs in their hands that display
the word “NO!” all over them: no to war, no to reproductive
regulation, no to companies that deny a living wage, no to rape,
no to environmental degradation.

The women are walking

into the arms of each other, because there’s nowhere else
to go, nor would they want to go anywhere else because
these arms hold the whole world up while the sky is falling.

The women are walking

a way.