Sun Peeking Through, Romona Youngquist, 12 X 12, Oil
Women Traveling Alone
1.
We keep our eyes open
like hookers
banged up
in faux furs
and gold.
We walk on well-lit streets
ignoring the stares
like Aborigines in mid-town
tracking trails older than concrete.
We carry whistles
in the key of no
as though our sound
louder can tumble
down walls.
2.
We sit under cities
close to each other
on trains in tunnels
our scarves and jackets pooling around us
in freshwater lakes
overlapping shorelines and edges of hems
the way a stretch of sky and a worn out sun
fold into a cloud of purple
the banner of mourners
and monarchs.
3.
We are older than no
after all
we are older
than the cities and the tricks
and the bruising grief.
_________________
Stephanie C. Smith