Gabrielle Munslow Poet Free verse

The Song I Will Not Pass Down

I dreamed a song —  
hush tones and haunted chords.  
A woman loved once,  
and it grew into a tree.  
She watered it with years,  
fed it her voice,  
slept beneath it,  
called the silence love.  
And in the final verse,  
she hung herself in its arms.

I woke with the melody lodged  
between my ribs like a blade.

I turned to you,  
my daughters,  
my mirrors,  
my storms unsoftened by shame.

I almost sang it to you,  
almost let it pass  
from my mouth into your bones,  
like the women before me did —  
lullabies lined with  
martyrdom in a dress.

But I stopped.  
Because I saw your eyes —  
not frightened,  
but awake.

And you, fierce ones,  
you deserve a different song.

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