“Seriously? My mom already marched for this,”
her sign read. Next to me,
my mom pointed and said,
“Probably more like her grandma.”
The girl was probably my age and she
marched next to her mother
like I marched next to mine.
We chanted along with a
thousand other mothers and daughters
in the streets of Downtown Denver.
I held my mother’s arm as we
lived out a hundred hours of
angry rants and fear-filled tears.
Above the crowd of
mothers and daughters,
a rainbow appeared.
A fitting symbol, I thought.
To me, it was hope.
That the mothers who fought
would not have to watch as their
daughters give up their autonomy.
That the daughters of mothers who
marched would no longer
have to march in their turn.
I mean,
seriously
We’ve already marched for this.
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