Walk Myself Home

An Anthology to End Violence Against Women

Edited by Andrea Routley

There is an epidemic of violence against women in Canada and the world. For many women physical and sexual assault, or the threat of such violence, is a daily reality. Walk Myself Home is an anthology of poetry, fiction, nonfiction and oral interviews on the subject of violence against women including contributions by Kate Braid, Yasuko Thahn and Susan Musgrave.

Walk Myself Home began as a small idea: to create a chapbook and sell it at the next LoudSpeaker Festival. The response was overwhelming. This small idea found a chorus of voices, and its sound was too big for a chapbook.

Andrea Routley is the co-founder of Victoria, BC’s LoudSpeaker Festival, a festival of music, theatre and poetry in celebration of International Women’s Day. Walk Myself Home is her first anthology.

[A]rtful and therapeautic … Fiction, non-fiction, poetry and interviews by men and women range from brutal confession to beautiful reflection. Some are told with humour, some with anger and almost all with humbling honesty.

— Amy Reiswig, Focus Online

The poetry in this collection should not be missed.

Bitch Media

Shortlisted for a 2011 M Award, presented by Monday Magazine

December 6, 1989

Arleen Paré

ask yourself how you bear this state   everyday   this chromosomal state of x and x   like the day you step from the number 17   cross the street   up the concrete steps  faster  along the everyday academic corridor into the university classroom   late   and a boy with a semi-automatic rushes in and starts shooting   starts shouting   a December everyday  the sixth  says he hates women   or says he hates feminists   he tells the men in the classroom to leave   and they do   and then he shoots   round after round   you are all shot  the x on your sweater fronts marks you  you bear this state of target   and in the news your mothers cry for you and your sisters cry and your aunts and girlfriends cry    you are every woman in the city  this December everyday    the hard-packed snow still moans beneath your everywoman boots as you hunch home from your job as a nanny or your job in a greasy spoon dishing poutine and gravy   you ask yourself how you bear it

you are every woman   you understand warnings   by your parents  don’t take candy  don’t expect too much  by your husband in the kitchen when you arrive late with the kids from daycare and the groceries and set the bags on your counter and he says  see what happens  what did they expect

how you bear it  ask yourself why  you are in all the cities  you are up and down fence-bound laced-up country lanes  you are on wailing beaten coastlines  on islands  in shiploads of refugees  in prisons  in bedrooms  on streets pacing for the next trick   you bear it   the state of want   the state of use   the state of disrespect of ridicule of wishing you were dead  ask yourself why  and if no good answer comes

tear down every poster every newsstand every high-tension wire every bill board every high-rise  every highway sign leading out of town  every aeroplane in the sky  every high and mighty penthouse hotel every bar and grill  tear up every alley where you were hurt  every research paper that described you and got it wrong  every house that trapped you  every letter  every spite  every thought that thought you less  every x and y with too much breath in your face  or too much blade at your throat  every shout  every temper  every gust of grit around your feet  every car parked outside your door  every doorway  every bank every bonnet  every promise  every classroom   every boy with a semi-automatic under his right arm  rushing in  yelling freeze  just before you do