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Transgenerational
by Anita MacThere is a small Woman
inside me,
Screaming.
I know what you’re thinking:
But you are a small woman.
Yes, that is the Her in Me coming through.
She can be seen also in
the curl of my hair
my lips painted red
my nose above an unguarded smile
caught in the wrong (right?) light.
I let Her be heard in
the somber tones of songs I joyously sing
my murmurs
and mumbles
echoing a tongue intentionally Forgotten.
But Her Screams… I stifle
consistently.
In a way that perhaps
all Women do.
In the way that I Know
my Women (People?) do.
And my throat is raw with them,
all the same.
Her Anger is mine,
all the same.
Her fears, my Anxiety,
all the same.
It is Privilege that I
can keep Her inside me—
that She cannot easily be forced to show My True Self.
But our Sacred Breath is One,
all the Same.
01/21/2025 Posted on 01/21/2025
Copyright © 2025 Anita Mac
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Richard Vince on 01/22/25 at 09:53 PM Powerful and multi layered. One I will probably have to come back to at least a few more times. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 03/20/25 at 12:08 AM Priviledge - not easy to digest, and not meant to be. Food for thought and more... |
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