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?