the scales of justice

tipped with unrest.

one side in death valley

and the other near mount everest.

one side in shackles

and the other bound free.

one side forced to cover their façade

with masks of masculinity

to cover their narrow noses

just for a sip of freedom,

while the other side was lavished

in goblets of opportunity

walking their earth drunk

on their own dirty fortune.

but one weight 

snuck onto the other side,

past the eyes of earth

and into the arms of peril.

led by her aspiration,

a soldier she became.

a wolf in sheep’s clothing,

a woman in a man’s uniform.

the world’s hands

stripped her of her garb

and indulged in her secret.

“a female army soldier,” they said.

“nothing more,” chanted the people.

but Cathay Williams continued on

behind the stage curtain

averted from the eyes of the audience. 

her story spilled over

to the other plate of the scale

as whispers took to the air

with inspiration abloom.

the weights down in the underworld

stopped waiting for permission

to execute their fantasies.

a staircase to olympus

was their vision,

and a reality it became.

the scales of justice leaned,

and the women of the balance

saw the sun for the first time.