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Women talk in kitchens at tables littered with children’s homework,
neglected cups of coffee and half boxes of cereal, uneaten toast and bits of paper
scrawled on in discussional graffiti. Women talk.

Women talk in living rooms with legs propped on coffee tables
or ottomans, arms draped over couch backs, hands picking absently
at worn fabric or waving the air as if to clear invisible cobwebs. Women talk.

Women talk in bedrooms swaddled in blankets or outstretched on top,
while searching through forgotten boxes or in fathomless closets,
digging through drawers or leaning on nightstands. Women talk.

Women talk in houses and cafes, on sidewalks and trails, in schoolrooms
and boardrooms, in strawberry fields and on assembly lines, hanging the wash
or scrubbing the floor, while carrying children or tottering elders. Women talk.

Women talk while the earth spins in endless orbit around a sun that
looks down upon them each day as they define the world in a torrent
of words that promote and protect, enlarge and encourage, describe and dissect.

Women talk.

Brigit, Jan. 2009


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