I dangled, teasing, out of reach
a longed-for but forbidden peach,
guarded close with jealous care
to starve their worth and stem their speech;
The prize to win, the flag to bear,
the ticket to a better fair;
no woman’s land, possessed and mined,
the word forced through resisting air;
The cause which roused and intertwined
the distaff side of humankind
which spun lives ells and years apart
into a thread which won’t unwind.
Won messily, by bit and part,
by cool head and by raging heart.
No cure-all magic treasure chart:
I am the vote. I am a start.
© Gwen Seabourne
Emily Wilding Davison
Hebog Tramor is a Professor at a UK University, researching medieval legal history and writing the odd poem.
