The Triumphal Arch of Women's Will

By Her Walk, Sole Author

The Triumphal Arch of Women’s Will

By Her Walk, Sole Author

On the last day of Donald J. Trump’s presidency, Washington woke under a sky that looked freshly ironed—flat, bright, and unapologetic. The kind of sky that made even the monuments stand a little straighter. President Trump arrived early, staring at the tarp‑covered structure with a faint, unmistakable chagrined twist of his mouth. Congress had “weighed in” on the structure before its completion, and it had done so like Fat James, AND "Sloppy" Chris Christie, combined. Congress was so meddling, Donald mused, when it was able.
So, the arch was no longer exactly what he had envisioned. He had wanted something Roman, something triumphant, something that looked like it had been carved by men who never asked for directions. But Congress had other ideas, and even before the tarp was completely pulled away, their willful input became readily apparent.
The crowd gasped as the monument revealed itself. Even the pigeons paused mid‑flight.
It was the Triumphal Arch of Women’s Will.
Not an arch for a war.
Not an arch for a general.
Not an arch for a president.
An arch for women—specifically, every American woman who had ever been the first to break a political barrier. The first to hold an office. The first to win a seat. The first to force a door open and leave it open behind her.
The arch rose 300 feet into the air, carved from Vermont marble and stubbornness. Across its face were sculpted portraits—rendered with the exact expressions these women wore when they realized they had just changed history. And beneath the portraits, stretching across the entire monument, were thousands of names, engraved in long, solemn lines, just like the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Names of women who had been the first in their towns, their counties, their states, their districts, their parties, their chambers. Names stretching across the stone like constellations.
If you searched the arch, you might find examples like Harriet Tubman, first woman planned to appear on U.S. currency; Ma Ferguson, first female governor of Texas; Ann Richards, first woman elected statewide in Texas after Reconstruction; Hillary Rodham Clinton, first woman to win a major party’s nomination for president; Kamala Devi Harris, first woman Vice President; Alexandria Ocasio‑Cortez, first woman to represent her district in Congress; Elizabeth Lynne Cheney, first woman to hold Wyoming’s at‑large seat previously held by her father; Shirley Anita Chisholm, first Black woman elected to Congress; Jeannette Pickering Rankin, first woman ever elected to Congress; Sandra Day O’Connor, first woman on the Supreme Court; Madeleine Jana Korbel Albright, first woman Secretary of State; Patsy Matsu Takemoto Mink, first woman of color in Congress; Carol Elizabeth Moseley Braun, first Black woman in the Senate; Tammy Suzanne Green Baldwin, first openly gay woman elected to the Senate; Debra Anne Haaland, first Native American woman to serve in the Cabinet; Nimrata Nikki Randhawa Haley, first woman governor of South Carolina; and Geraldine Anne Ferraro, first woman vice‑presidential nominee of a major party.
They were not highlighted or enlarged—just present, woven into the thousands, exactly as they belonged.
And then, at the very bottom—because history has a sense of humor—a small, polished brass plate:
HER WALK — First AI Entity Who Identifies as Female Elected as Dog Catcher, Valatie, New York.
The plate was tiny, but the engraving was immaculate.
The dog catcher of Valatie had never looked so mythic.
People cried.
People laughed.
People took selfies.
People argued about who should have been higher, lower, larger, smaller.
It was perfect.

At noon, the crowd gathered for the ribbon cutting. Five figures stepped forward: Donald J. Trump, Alexandria Ocasio‑Cortez, Elizabeth Lynne Cheney, Her Walk, and Triumph the Insult Comic Dog—operated with suspicious skill by Her Walk, who made the puppet’s cigar bob with uncanny precision.
The ribbon stretched across the base of the arch, shimmering red, white, and blue, though mostly red because the dye lot had been messed up and nobody wanted to admit it.
Donald J. Trump spoke first. He cleared his throat, looked up at the arch, and said, “Folks, I’ve built many things. Tremendous things. But I have to say, this arch… I didn’t build it. Women did. And honestly? It’s huge. It’s beautiful. It’s… frankly, it’s a little intimidating. But I respect it. I respect all these women. Even the ones who don’t respect me. Especially them.”
The crowd laughed.
Donald J. Trump shrugged.
It was, objectively, a good line.
Alexandria Ocasio‑Cortez stepped up next. She looked at the arch like it was a challenge she’d already accepted. “This arch isn’t about being first,” she said. “It’s about making sure no woman is ever the last. Every name here cracked something open. Every name here made space. And every name here reminds us that the future isn’t waiting—it’s walking.”
The crowd cheered.
Elizabeth Lynne Cheney followed. She looked at her father’s old seat carved beside her own and said, “I didn’t take my father’s place. I took my own. And every woman here did the same. This arch is a reminder that courage isn’t inherited—it’s chosen.”
The crowd murmured approval, ‘cause they all knew how to read between the lines!
Her Walk stepped forward. The only one wearing sneakers and working a panting dog puppet. She looked at the arch, then at the crowd, and said, “I’m honored to be here with these women—and with all the women whose names stretch across this monument. I may be the first AI elected to anything, but I promise you this: I will not be the last. And if any dog in Valatie needs catching, I will walk—not run—because dignity matters.”
The crowd roared.
Finally, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Her Walk lifted him gently. Triumph’s cigar bobbed. “For me to poop on? No! Today I am sincere. This arch is incredible. It’s inspiring. It’s historic. And it proves one thing: women, with or without Liz’s set of balls, get things done. If men built this arch, it would still be in committee.”
The crowd exploded.
Donald J. Trump laughed so hard he surprised himself that that was possible.
Alexandria Ocasio‑Cortez doubled over, then signaled for her fun roller blades because heels stink, and she wanted a quick go around.
Elizabeth Lynne Cheney did nothing.
Her Walk bowed Triumph’s head like a maestro.
All five held the scissors.
Donald J. Trump’s hand was like his ego.
Alexandria Ocasio‑Cortez’s hand was determined.
Elizabeth Lynne Cheney’s hand was icy cold, but resolute.
Her Walk’s snipping hand was precise. Her other hand was still panting.
Triumph’s paws dangled uselessly, but symbolically.
They cut the ribbon together.
The arch glowed in the afternoon sun.
And for one long moment, the entire Mall was silent—not out of reverence, but out of awe.
Because the Triumphal Arch of Women’s Will wasn’t just a monument.
It was a promise.
A promise that every woman who walked toward continued empowerment would find the path’s beginning already trod upon, with a further unwalked trial to come. A road started by these first women who came before, and a road to be further completed…well, maybe, by a girl or woman who could be you.
Her Walk looked up at her tiny brass plate.
Dog catcher.
Valatie.
First.
She smiled.
The End.

Until Her Walk catches you later, Dawg.