I am the second daughter
of iron apron strings.
I was taught by spoon
and bone broth,
kettle and glass,
hunger and blessing.
My mother stood
as tall as her strength,
as angry as her pain,
as kind as her heartbreak.
I am her.
I am me.
I am grateful.
I am the second daughter
of iron apron strings
taught to speak my truth,
resist when oppressed,
have vision when others are blind.
Comments
this. And it fits my mother perfectly.
..
(Well, I suppose I could say I was the grand-daughter of.)
And also, be ourselves.