By Aurora Jane Wells
i walk these streets
my lover’s hand in mine
at last, we are free of fear
i see many eyes on us
and in some of them, i see the door to a hundred closets
as i lift her hand to my lips
and kiss it gently, silently telling her how cherished she is
i see an old woman, sipping coffee on some old steps
and it is almost imperceptible, but she lights up
our eyes meet and there is a silent understanding
a group of modestly dressed women pass by
some avert their eyes, others willingly expose their disgust to us
at our betrayal of
what is to them
the sacred duty of womanhood
but one woman does neither
she watches wistfully, her baby in her arms
a slight smile on her face
the others don’t notice or pretend not to
i lock eyes with a young man
at the edge of his family
and the edge of adulthood
many men have looked at us today
but from this one’s eyes, lust is absent
all i detect is a silent “thank you”
and a hidden, frightened whisper
of “please, don’t let them somehow know”
both looks that all of us know
and in the subtle language only we know
through my eyes, i say to him “i will look out for you, young one”
in these many understandings
it is unspoken but known, down to our cores
the one thing we have in common is not our bodies, but a pain that we all know
and all have dreamed of a world without
but that every time one of us fights back
forcefully blooms in the face of this world that doesn’t want us to live
this act of resistance releases a signal to our kin
“you have permission to be”
Aurora Jane Wells is a bisexual feminist writer living in Ontario, Canada. Her writing is for the reader and its meaning is what it means to you. If it gives you pause or makes you feel seen, she has done her job. Instagram: @ajwells.writer