And then
My women ancestors
Rise to the occasion
To rally in historical protest
They become the voices in my heels
Tsk,tsk...tsk,tsk
They pound at my inner walls
As if I am their last chance for freedom
With their frail wrists and bony knuckles
Like the ghosts of sacrificial lambs
Their shrill voices echo up my spine
"We made you! How will you repay us?"
To them I have no voice
So I revert to the fetal position
Stark white and wincing
As they remember me
As they prefer to remember me
If they could listen
They would hear me say
I haven't won either
No comments:
Post a Comment