“Because of the widespread belief that there was something not quite correct with wayfaring women, the act of walking became a recognized form of defiance.” — Deborah Lutz, The Brontë Cabinet 

There’s something not quite right with wandering girls; 

Boots caked in mud, like men who hunt at dusk — 

Ungrateful for their home, their stove, their bed. 

Charlotte is the beldam who leads them on, 

While Anne ambles shyly through the wet grass. 

Emily’s hair runs wild — heart blazing red. 

Some say they plan to travel overseas 

And tour the land in skirts that bare their legs. 

Truth is, they’ll be worth far more once they’re dead. 

I’ve heard they speak with streetwalkers at night, 

Their laughter twisting past the old church spire — 

They simply don’t make sense inside my head.

– Sylvie Lewis

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