Abritti is upset.

And still the sun cracks
through these July rain-clouds, often
enough for her to make her way.

Braving the heat,
and the molesters,
ignoring or yelling back at cat-callers,
she sings.
In her head, her playlist zings.

It is she,
who gazes at the landscape
and the horizon,
just before sunset.

It is she,
who should've had
heartbreaks for breakfast,
but she falls asleep
dreaming of fairy-tales
that are feminist.

11/7/13