These women didn’t rescue voices

to watch you bow out

of this life and the next,

the weight of shame and scandal

sinking you to their knees

all bloodied and bruised.

These women didn’t raise hands,

two in subjugation

then balled fists in protest,

to read apologies

written in the faintest ink,

ghastly lit in camera flashes.

These women didn’t speak

then burn through

shattered rosy glasses,

to be painted over

as misshapen forms

smothered in misogyny.

These women didn’t march streets

paved by men

in debased gold,

to listen to your vitriol

and Viagra fuelled lies,

their bravery branded a weapon.

No.

These women were born into shivering hands

of mothers and fathers,

to blaze so brightly

the pigment in your glassy eyes

will vanish, before you stamp her

into the ground.

Into the earth which bore her forth.

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Kristiana Reed juggles writing and teaching English; in both vocations…