When womyn weep

A young tall womon, long dreadlocks swept up off her neck and intricately woven together around the back of her head, sandals slapping on hot asphalt as she rushes across the parking lot toward me, postponing my climb into the camper. She tries to speak, hands abruptly rising to hover unsure between us for a brief second before she grabs me into a strong, soft melding hug.

“Thank you” she murmurs over and over into the long-haired side of my head as we grasp each other tightly  and I mutter “Thank you” as we wordlessly exchange our pain-filled stories of violence and survival, of tears and strength, of bewilderment and disbelief.

End Violence Against Womyn and Children.