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My grandmother taught me how to rinse period blood out of my ******* taught me how to sweep the veranda with my clothes sticking to my skin My grandmother taught me how to hang up soap-water-soaked house dresses, frocks, slips, and bras on a clothes line and take them all down before the sky turns too gray with almost-rain My grandfather taught me how to recite the times table as I read from a small school book my writing is small and quiet and does not yet demand to be read or known My grandfather taught me that disobedience means a stern brown eye, a grim mouth, a sharp snapping crack of leather belt My father taught me that not all men are men, that some men are boys and they will leave their daughters waiting, legs folded underneath them, toes curled as they watch for their father's car that never drives down the quiet road My father taught me that some men, some boys will leave and they will close your front door, leave your third text unanswered on your phone, and you will taste their lies on your tongue My mother taught me to be loud assertive, that every word holds heavy resonant power and can be a piercing bullet My mother taught me how to bathe in water, burn papers scrawled with ex lovers' names rinse my mouth with salt and water flick my clean tongue over white teeth how to write love into my palms ritualistically pass it over my body
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Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
familial lessons
My grandmother taught me how to rinse period blood out of my ******* taught me how to sweep the veranda with my clothes sticking to my skin My grandmother taught me how to hang up soap-water-soaked house dresses, frocks, slips, and bras on a clothes line and take them all down before the sky turns too gray with almost-rain My grandfather taught me how to recite the times table as I read from a small school book my writing is small and quiet and does not yet demand to be read or known My grandfather taught me that disobedience means a stern brown eye, a grim mouth, a sharp snapping crack of leather belt My father taught me that not all men are men, that some men are boys and they will leave their daughters waiting, legs folded underneath them, toes curled as they watch for their father's car that never drives down the quiet road My father taught me that some men, some boys will leave and they will close your front door, leave your third text unanswered on your phone, and you will taste their lies on your tongue My mother taught me to be loud assertive, that every word holds heavy resonant power and can be a piercing bullet My mother taught me how to bathe in water, burn papers scrawled with ex lovers' names rinse my mouth with salt and water flick my clean tongue over white teeth how to write love into my palms ritualistically pass it over my body
#poetry#family#parents#cycle#lessons#grandparents#history
girl-diffused
Written by
girl-diffused
29/F/Earth
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
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