by Amy Beecham
My promise to you is that I will not be your daughter
in silence. I will outstare the starers, my gaze will not falter
as I stand before them, living proof that two women can
raise a child just as well as a man and woman can.
I will say our name loudly – fill up my lungs and
sing it like a hymn on sacred Sunday but instead of hailing
God, I will hail to you; to the sacrifices you made, the Judas’
you’ve sat at your table. How quickly they changed from breaking your bread
to refusing to meet your eye.
There is strength in our army of three, you tell me. I think you are right –
wars have been fought on much less than watching the ones who raised you
lose almost everything just to have each other.
My promise to you is that, when you ask me
if I have ever wished it could be different, I will say no and mean it completely.
Amy is a writer + poet from Oxford, England. As a current Creative Writing undergraduate, she splits her time between endeavours in poetry and as a freelance journalist and content creator.