Grandma

Your bones were a home to his hate

Pushing the limit of how much pain one body could hold

Stoic, we didn’t know

Did your bones creak under the weight of his blows?

Did your spirit waver?

You talked to yourself in rushed whispers nobody heard

Did you speak your truth?

Your body didn’t break despite the violence

He had a rigid mind and brittle bones

In his attempts to use force, you proved yourself stronger

You endured decades of untold abuse

Did you know that you didn’t have to suffer alone?

In putting the family first, did you forget that you are the family?

When he died, did you cry?

When his death finally freed you, did you feel safe in your skin?

Did the prison bars of his arms penetrate your mind?

Nearly a century old, you are still alive and well

I won’t ask you to share your trauma

You won’t ask me to share mine

Our bones are strong

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