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Saturday at the Farmer's Market. Shoppers drift through the produce and craft stands clutching their purchases. Near the door, five gray-haired women dressed in black stand in a line. Their sign reads "Women against Violence." I recognize Barbara Ann, a friend I've not seen for several years, in the line.
The sign doesn't say 'against male violence,' but, still, I feel targeted. My mind spins through scenes; the beatings she took prior to her divorce; TV shots of the slaughter in the middle east; my own vicarious enjoyment of the violence in sports, films and novels.
I approach her and say "Hi". She doesn't reply and I realize that it's a silent vigil. So, I open my arms for a hug.
she offers her cheek
for my kiss
Reprinted from Frogpond