I wonder if my daughter will be able to talk
The women in my family are known for their speech impediments
My mother never learnt to modulate her voice
When she asks she shouts
When she’s happy she screams
When she’s angry she roars
The volume in her voice is a response
Her mother never learnt to talk
When she was scared, she’d run
When she was unhappy, she’d leave
When she was worried, she’d walk away
She never learnt how to say what she needed
In a house of running and shouting women I learnt my value only in my silence
So when you tell me to stay, I listen
Because I’m willing to sell my voice for love
I forget to open my mouth
Even to feed myself the love I need
I will make sure my daughter is nothing like me
She won’t be night like me, harbouring all forms of repressed darkness in her quiet
She won’t be be fire like my mother, scorching everything that tries to stand in her way
She won’t be ice like my grandmother, abandoning of every fray
My daughter will be like water
If she wants to be
You’ll hear her calm and know she is Lake
You’ll see her peace and know she is Brook
You’ll hear her power and know to call her Storm
You’ll hear her patter and remember she is every Rain
You’ll watch her move and hear her tell you that she is River
If she ever crashes into herself, you’ll say, ‘look, there goes the Sea’
She won’t be violent
She won’t be a coward
She will not be your entertainment
And you will her her voice when she speaks