Too Little Too Late

I touched her arm with tenderness
in order to say “I see you”
but still, I inquired
confusion perched in the pulpit
of my perspective

for the Elder vote was “in”—
Permission for the Voice
of Women given—

I thought it should have been
the end of the story—
a celebration—
a success—
a win—
a well worn victory
of libatious liberation

But I was naÏve; I didn’t know.
Her path
Her work
Her fight
or the numerous
respectful requests repetitively
uttered by silenced women
sitting in pacified pews

Generations of Thelmas
had obediently beseeched
the rigid rocks
of revered human robots

let Us pray aloud
let Us choose a song
let Us share from our hearts
with our own tongues
without first timidly touching the arm
for the words only to be spoken
from a father
a brother
a husband
a son…
a man

Thelma graciously and tearfully responded
to my ignorant inquiry—
Today’s victory
should have been
could have been
Yesterday’s.

photo courtesy of Freepik