Suffs

We navigate from the burbs into the city
it's taken us months to get this far
two tickets to the seven o'clock show
we're really getting away this time. 

We are dressed all in white, two innocents
not fully, but somewhat naively 
representing equity, justice, suffrage,
while stepping into it, and in it, on the streets.

I don my red satin blooms,
 "bread and roses, bread and roses"
and she clacks down the pavement in block heels.
At the restaurant over quesadillas and strip steak,
we create our own meaning while pondering truly dark topics.

We realize we're late to the theatre,
we cut through courtyards and office parks, 
sprint up hilly urban avenues
and pause at crosswalks until the streetcar passes.

We take our seats, the miraculous ones she found out of thin air
and we cling to the edges of our worn velvet push-downs.

"How will we do it when it's never been done?
How will we find a way, when there isn't one?" 

This isn't entertainment, it's a thesis.

During the first Act, we cry more times than we can count
During the second, we hold each other's hands, 
take turns being the strong one, gripping shoulders, patting forearms.
At the intermission, we find the restroom, and our mascara-dripped faces.

We go outside to get some air
contemplate the narrative
take stock of the dramas and traumas unfolding all around us
find a route through, the brave way, the hard way.

"Find a way
We've got to find a way?
Find a way."

When there isn't one, we forge it anyway.
Doors closed, intermission over, we're late
but we push through and into the next journey.