If someone wrote a poem about me,

What would the lines say?

There is a woman who walks alone

Every evening. Would they see

The children on my hands

The dogs in the swing of my arms

The limp I carry as I drag one foot

Just a little bit, the men I’ve kissed

The lives I walked away from,

The battles I have fought

And sometimes lost

The lines I’ve earned on my soul

The song that hums in my head

Or would they, like me,

Just raise a hand in passing

Smiling. At the lady who walks

Her dog every evening, instead?