The Women Who Walk Us Home
Because it’s a pandemic and I miss my friends so much. And, because Kate Baer’s poetry will knock your socks off.
The ones who arrive with a bag of clothes, four tired lemons, half a story from her sister’s trip to
Paraguay. The ones who keep secrets and whose secrets we keep in potted plants, in every ocean we’ve
ever known. The ones who know our husbands, their little pleasures. Our lovers and our scars. The ones
who stay, hope like a moth. Who stare into the gaping tomb and are not afraid of is unveiling. The ones who
will be there, even then (even then) to walk us home.
