by Janine Phillips
The voices of my mother and grandmothers and all my great greats
Raging, crying, singing swirl around me through the ages.
Then and now,
Unending choruses urging me
hold on,
stand up
Embrace my power.
Don’t back down like they did.
Forced to make a choice or live the lie
of being silent or a bitch
of relinquishing control
deciding to ditch these norms that bind.
A bad mother gives up the child in her womb
while struggling to care for the ones clinging to her skirts
begging for food.
A bad wife fights back when pummeled and pounded
raped and strapped with a belt or a switch made of willow
until, finally subdued,
deliberately misconstrued.
A good wife stays silent, taking it like a man,
her soul stolen as she muffles her cries
in her pillow.
I hear you echoing through the centuries,
raging in my blood,
crying out at night when the clock strikes three
and I can’t sleep,
and singing in the rain
Or in the shower, huddled in a ball ‘til the water runs cold.
I found your voice and I called out a battle cry
standing beside you in the ranks
we toil and toll together,
making our marks on the astral temple rolls.
And then, I finally found my own voice too.
And it sounds like you
JUST like you.
ONLY LOUDER.
Janina Grey 