trou noir

ii.

sometimes your mom yells at you
« it's not my job, is it not »
but it's all hers, not yours

and she says the word « help »
just to not assume that you share it in two

and you stay here, standing up,
trying to not shatter, not even cry
or say something to defend yourself,
because the power of a mother is invincible

and don't you dare, you,
the eldest daughter,
the one that always fight but always obey,
don't you dare raise your voice
like you do all the time
don't you dare, because you're just the second mother,

the mother that your siblings are confused about,
the invisible mother
the mother who's not supposed to be seen as one

in your veins there's this eternal rage,
the rage of the daughters, of the mothers before them – this mothers who were daughters herself, and didn't heal –
the rage who is always a shame, that you hide because it's a burden,
the burden that you carry like you carry the love,

but under all this rage,
still,
there's the sadness
there's the despair
there's the ugly impotence.