THE WEAVE:

…Persephone speaks…

"The old man bikes
past me.  He says,
"You look Bright,

like a free
Spirit," as he glides
a Way.  Other

men pass me.  Some
of them look scared,
to look me in

the eye, like I
might cut them down
for daring.  In this

age, I understand.
Some women do.
Behind me, 3 men

walk, and talk
about how a woman
from their city was

beat up, in broad
dayLight, in the middle
of the street, and no One

stopped it.  "Ain't nobody
care,"  they affirm,
back and forth,

"It could happen Here."
"I'm sure it do."
Fear.  tHere is

Fear, creeping
like a vine around
the edges of most

beautiful things.  tHere
will alWays be someOne
who wants to strangle

an image they admire.
I will die, someDay,
somehow.  I could make

mySelves Dusty, but
the world is Dark enough,
that even Dusty glows.

"You look Bright,
like a free
Spirit."  And I wonder

if I am, as I 
walk, only noticing
the men, in my

hyper-vigilance."