A blister forms at the edge
Before the willow turns to dust.
Where pain creases inwards
Like a stone to the throat.
I am not my mother’s daughter
Hear-(lies)-a whisper
I am her mother’s last blazing breath
Hear-(truths) -the scream
That seeks within its water
One by one
Soaking into the afterbirth
Womb to womb
Breaking into the ashes
The first cries of the public
Bathed in motherly blood.
Here-(standing)-the last of the oaths
Sworn into silence
borne
to deathly promises kept for rainy days yet to come.
Aamina Chothia is a South African writer and poet.