A crowd of people so big each person looked like a piece of grass on a football field
I don’t see the point of having so many people march if we are all the same
The same pink hats with cat ears. The same signs with the same phrases.
But then I see a 91 year old woman and a baby no more than 10 months both marching
Walking or being carried doesn’t matter
Because they are there
The baby will hear stories about it, The old woman will tell stories about it
She will tell her kids about climbing up onto a pile of wood
With 20 year olds and holding a sign unaware of the words written on it
How she led a chant saying
“Tell me what a feminist looks like, this is what a feminist looks like!”
How when she saw her sign she yelled “my kids will love this!”
How she marched for hours in hope a change would be made.
The baby will hear stories about the sign she made
How she scribbled with markers on a piece of cardboard
The meaning unclear to her parents, to the world
But to her it was clear that the scribbles meant so much
And how she didn’t cry the whole time
And how she was carried for hours with no breaks
And how she got her picture taken by so many people
Wanting to document why they marched and why she marched
Scribbles on a piece of cardboard were her way of hoping a change would be made.
To be a writer and for people not to hate.