the first voice is a whisper
her words floating on a breeze that ripples amber waves of grain
emboldened by the rustling of the trees she passes through
the second voice, the third
follow like tides sweeping back from out to sea
the fourth voice, the fifth
the sixth, the seventh, the eighth
the sounds of a flash flood, surging towards justice
these women are not liars
these women will not be silenced
these women are the rolls of thunder,
speaking out against this violence