There are so many voices being raised
at once, trying to take back the silence
that once weighed heavy as a mattress
on the shoulders of us, women…
We wore silence in our smiles
behind our ears, on our knees,
in the nooks and crannies. They say
silence is golden, but only
in the sense of his gold tooth
that flashed in her eye as he grunted
and rammed his way inside her.
Or golden like the wedding ring
on the same hand he used to crush
her mouth—it clicked against her teeth
with every unwanted thrust.

When one among us asserted her voice,
they were waiting and watching;
they shot their arrows quick as tongues
and mowed us down like weeds.

But we came back because droughts
only last so long. The rain always comes.
And though we can only stand in awe
of the man that is our President now,
we do still stand. We stand tall and point
with our fingers, with our tongues,
with our truth at the ones who now wish
they’d never had their way with us.

We are loud as quasars.
We are loud as melting polar glaciers.
We are loud as zippers opening…
and closing, too.
We are large and contain multitudes,
and they are out of time.
Lucinda Zamora-Wiley is a poet who resides in Brownsville, Texas, transplanted from San Antonio, originally. She earned her MFA in Creative Writing at UTRGV in 2016, and it is one of her highest privileges to have worked with poets, Billy Collins, Juan Felipe Herrera, and Emmy Perez along her writing career. She looks forward to working with poet, Sharon Olds, in summer of 2018. Lucinda was recently nominated by this press for a Pushcart Prize Award in Poetry; the nomination is an honor for which she is profoundly grateful.
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