we are separated by damp slacks,
      damper jeans,
                            sweaters,
                                            slips
                                and bras

one woman    charged w prostitution
and false reporting
                       handcuffed in the hospital
after a man
                   after a party
                                      held her to the bed
and she only c(oul)d remember his hands against her neck

      we are divided by still-dripping skirts, scarves & veils
      dunked in the sink, and I don't think
      they're judging me on how low my blouses go

one woman was whipped when word was leaked
we trust her word for the scars on her back
and she believes me

      we are divided by wet flannel PJs, fuzzy socks,
      and nighties so negligible
                                                I can't understand
          why they're not dry

one woman was declared unrapeable
                             the police laughed at her
a doctor looked under her skirt and said he saw a man
                                               that doctor still has a job

      we are divided by cotton & silk
      leather & linen
                               denim & wool
      that ought to smell like spring fields
      according to the powder box

we are looking toward melting peaks
and missing that foothills bloom

Written in response to the first of Big Tent Poetry’s prompts for the first week of National Poetry Month.

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