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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