We always
Smile
Never
Cry
Laugh as we die
No one
Needs
To know our business
We sustain
Silence
From generation to generation
We
Say
How this pains me so
But no one can know
I’ll never forget
Dad says
“Never let them see you sweat”
Oh, but whispered
History
Is a rag soaking this in
A 16 year-old labors
To bear her uncle’s child
Sisters fragmented
Reveal shame-stories through
Poisoned intention
Until
All that is heard
Are the
Scrape slide
Scrape slide
Of forks on
Bad china and
Rice and peas gliding
Gummy down regretful throats
I’ll never forget
Dad says
“Never let them see you sweat”
Until
Brother’s gone mad
Sister’s gone missing
Auntie’s obsessed with
Which man we’re kissing
Until
Grandmother dies
Didn’t know her real name
One girl’s not by the casket
The daughter of shame
But
That’s okay
We always
Smile
Never
Cry
Laugh as we die
No one
Needs
To know our business
But don’t we?
Family?
We sustain
Silence
But
No one
Ever
Forgets
We smile
And we laugh
We scrape
And we glide
Through
Birth and
Through
Death
We
Worship
Our
Pride
Posts
We never spoke about certain things in my family. Secrets floated like helium-filled elephants. Shame mingled with pride at weddings and especially funerals, confounding the young folks, choking the older ones.
ReplyDeleteI remember writing this poem shortly after the death of my grandmother. Even her real name was a secret never told until she was gone. She had a child (an aunt I have yet to meet) with a man who was not my grandfather. He forced himself on her. The shame of this silenced my grandmother, distanced the child (now in her 70s), and gave the other children an inheritance of silence. Incredibly, my maternal grandmother was also violated, and became a mother at 16. She was put to shame because she was pregnant and unmarried. The man who violated her was never even questioned. Silence surrounded the trauma.
In both cases, my grandmothers were abandoned by their own fathers. Their fathers never protected them. Never defended them. They stood by, hands folded, mouths shut. This makes me think of Jacob after Dinah’s rape. David, after Tamar’s. The resulting rage of Simeon and Levi. The plot of Absalom. The agonizing desolation of Dinah and Tamar. Silence simmering to a raging, contorted boil.
I share this poem about my family as I would a scar, because a scar brought to the light is proof of both the deep wound and the healing power of God. Even when family is silent, He hears. He acknowledges. He touches wounds. He heals. He vindicates.
Humanity has hidden our hurts and shame from the Lord since Eden (Gen. 3:7-8). My prayer is that if you or your loved one are living in shame, you would find solace in other believers, freedom in prayer (as found in James 5:15-20), and refuge in the One who is faithful and just to forgive us our sins (and our family's) and cleanse us (1 John 1:9). If you are burdened with condemnation and shame, I pray you find freedom even now.