I can hear the thrum of boots on cobblestone in 1920

The strangled cries of our grandmothers

The suffragettes who’s nails broke and bled grasping for our futures

A future of righting wrongs, their shouts and signs a shove of momentum for daughters who may never know the truth and violence in not having a choice

I can hear school girls weeping in the bathroom

Staring at pink lines as their friend leaning against the cubicle wall offers them soft, hollow words of solidarity

Words through gritted teeth with fresh braces before second period starts

I can hear her fathers footsteps pacing the kitchen floor

Blaming their mother, there was no way they would raise a child who has to raise a child

His brother is really the one at fault, though he will still be invited to Thanksgiving

I can hear the hushed murmurs of men in 3-piece suits

as a woman requests the bank teller to open her first credit card, wearing a lovely hat with ink still drying on divorce papers and bruises hidden under her gold buttoned coat

I can hear the pious protesters celebrating the closure of the last women’s health centre in Alabama

They thank a god who has bred cruelty into many in his name and then go home to their wives making dinner

Tomorrow will be the same for them

I can hear my sister, who’s one wish was to be a mother, wailing as she loses her baby

I can hear her silence as she loses too much blood

I can hear her husband screaming at the doctors to do something, anything

I can hear the doctors arguing and pleading with lawyers

I can hear her favourite song playing as her casket is lowered into the ground

Our mothers sobs were drowned out

As the years go on, the more laws passed, the foot on the necks of women threatening to snap them at any second

I can hear hope fading