You looked at me through the cloud of white pillows and
You’re becoming more and more beautiful every day
You’re becoming more and more woman
You said. I wanted to stop myself from laughing but couldn’t
You’re falling more and more in love with me
I said. You shook your head in play but it was
Your heart was blooming right in front of my eyes,
Not scared anymore to show me its colorful petals, not
Holding back. It was also true, at twenty-seven
I was becoming
More woman, I was finally healing
The line of women before me, abused,
Traumatized, tortured and left lonely, left
To carry the weight of their families, old and young,
The weight of their shattered souls, to mend
The unamenable. They had not made it,
They had loved fiercely, but
They remained unhealed, they had
Lived and died in sorrow, they had learned everything
They weren’t supposed to learn.
They pleaded guilty, where in reality,
Their innocent intentions had nothing to do
With the blood, their hearts were not deep enough
To drown out the cries of their daughters,
They locked doors at night, scared that they’d be killed
In their sleep, or worse, that their daughters
Would be taken from them.
I didn’t know how to speak to you about
My mothers and grandmothers,
So I spoke to you from my own place
In the midst of white pillows and
I am becoming more woman, I confirmed.
Did you hear their voices from afar?
Did my mothers and grandmothers,
Speak to you quietly at night?
Could you not make anything
Of their words, except for maybe deciding to
Love me more?
You responded from the other side and,
Love just makes people prettier, I guess