female robbery by Ro Cavallaro

female robbery

by Ro Cavallaro

there are fresh bruises on the girl’s knees. she scratches her forearm, scab healed yet tender. i feel her eyes dart with each jolt of the subway.

the homeless woman sways with eyes half open, mumbling “you get away from me, you. i don’t want no part of you.”

stuffy air thickens as a father fills the space with rage. daughter whimpers at her shoes, tears staining the stuffed elephant below.

train delays allot these moments where the dirty flooring below no longer gratifies my eyes, for the women aside me are hurting.

our friday nights are robbed of excitement. crossing the street requires pepper spray. new beginnings aren’t fresh starts after all.

those who are hurting us sit beside you on the subway. they’re striding past as you enjoy coffee outside.

i just hope you keep a fist clenched when you sleep because the same sun which offers you joy gives them pleasure, too.