His words are slivers of glass in her soul.
His slap is wrath of winter on her skin.
His silence is a mess of blackness in her head.

She was hostage between existing and living
between knowing the path and walking the path
between chaos and peace
No more.

She collected fragments
of bravery. Gingerly weaving them
like heirlooms passed through the ages.
Each shard
a whisper of courage
her grandmothers carried across the sea
journeying from Eire. Hope stitched into their hearts
seeking a land for their daughters’ daughters to rise
unshackled by chains of the past and chains of a man.
Yet, here she stood, weathering injustice. Dimming
their fierce dreams.

To endure this would be to throw away their sacrifice, their strength.

Puppetmaster thought vows would keep her loyal to his brutality.

She vows
her legacy of resilience will not fade with her footsteps.

Her certainty is dangerous.
Her loyalty belongs to the women who came before her
—their strength woven into her soul.

By Chris Mooney – Trinity, Florida – United States

Chris is a lifelong New Yorker who taught for 35 years in NYC schools and suburbs, as well as homeschooling her two children, now young adults. She holds degrees in English and Education from St. John’s University. Chris has also been writing since the early 80s as a family/lifestyle columnist and poet.

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