Keys

Keys

 

Assess the danger

a shorter walk past the trees

or the longer, safer route?

The main road, well lit

passing traffic

but

passing traffic.

A threat, or salvation, or nothing at all, just

more of the same, doors locked at the lights.

Good.

Exactly like their Dad taught them.

 

They say not to walk alone

but I’m on the late shift

drive then

but I can’t afford the lessons

never mind a car.

I have my keys though.

The magic weapon

plunge them into the weak spots.

Groin

eyes

nose.

He can press over two hundred

he could have a knife

he can be on you before you can see him

 

but it’s ok

I have my keys.

 

I have a rape alarm too

it sounds like every other city noise

the ones we ignore

the background

that symphony of modern life that sends babies to sleep

and reminds me in my restless state

that I am not the only one awake.

It went off accidentally in the library once,

people just kept working, lightly laughing after I wrestled

the pin back in beside the journals.

 

I love to walk,

I’d run too, through the park the setting sun

dappling my skin through the trees

leaving the gates sweaty and breathless

casting my eyes upwards to search for Venus.

But I can’t run alone, not now, not there

not since that twilight moment by the canal.

There were three and there was me

maybe none of them had sisters

girlfriends

wives

or Mothers

maybe they were newly sprung from arrogance

and fear there, on that canal path

or maybe not.

 

I did not have my keys.

This was my mistake.

But it is so hard to run with keys,

encumbered

when all I want is to be free.

 

To run in the park

to walk in the dark

to take a shortcut after a late shift

when the rain is pooling in my less than sturdy shoes

to not clutch my keys in my tight fist and pray to go

unnoticed.

 

I thought for a moment the story had changed

but the me too became lost in politics

her story became his

the people disappeared and we became sides.

Divided.

 

I’m a threat to masculinity

I’m damaging my husband and my son with my feminist narrative.

I’m a dangerous extremist

but I just wanted to run.

To walk in the dark.

To live free.

 

Now together we paint freedom

we hope for more

and we create it minute by minute

hour by hour

day by day.

 

We turn keys in doorways and leave the doors wide open

we discover secret ballrooms

walled gardens

and starlit parks.

We give our keys away

making room for more

 

for him

 

and for her.

 

 

 

Gillian Fox – March 2019