[the women in my family]

“don’t be so angry”

I carry the anger of three generations of women
Three lifetimes bitter like blood oranges
Groceries violently thrown on the floor of the hallway
You know the rest

I am the anger of my grandmother
Locked in houses that were never quite homes
for a lifetime
Children coming and going, some of them hers, some not
The house grew quiet, with the exception of the willow tits in the garden
Black suits, snot and tears in a church,
A simple coffin, the kind we could afford
And she unpacks her groceries alone now

I am the anger of my mother
The daughter of a proud, angry woman
who never quite knew how to love her the way she needed to be loved
A marriage that spent years in a freezer
and her husband is complaining now
about something mundane like the groceries
The children are covering their ears with pillows
You know the rest

I am my own anger
The daughter of people who never quite healed
who grew up in places that never really wanted her
A whore for your worries
because I was only ever safe when I was quiet and listening
With a stench of loneliness passed from one generation to another
like a sick relay race

I will take my anger with me to my grave
and you can pry it from my cold, dead hands

Stella Paukku is an aspiring poet and Environmental Sciences graduate. She is originally from Finland but is based in Luxembourg.