Whisper

 

Today is a day when the shadows reach long. When my feet are sodden and my throat is crushed, again. When bruises tint my skin and my wounds seep.

Today the women march, powered by each other’s strength; a battle-cry, an army, a war. Their fierceness moves me. The women are brave, I am proud. I have stood alongside them in rage and joy.

Today is the day to roar. It is time to be heard. To be believed. How many have spoken since I did eleven years ago? Hundreds, thousands found courage, found voice. This volley of truth that will not stop shall be listened to and absorbed, no longer silenced.

No more blind eye.

Today grief hangs like smirr as I sit, pen in hand, damp from the shower. Everything is a shadow, a glint. The parts of my body, the thoughts that I have, the memories that stun me like a taser from decades before. I am a sliver of myself.

Now, I murmur, they would see that I had spoken the truth, that I should have been heard. There would be no more excuses. No more turning away, gently tumbling the bomb from their hands.

No more denial.

I can scream louder than them, I have learned new words. I can be fierce.

Soon it will be the time to speak again and to shout, but today I can only whisper.

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