The Women Who Stayed

my ancestors

choked on their own names

tasted rust in the kitchen air

burned their fingers

on the iron

pressed the creases

out of their dreams

because men

liked their women

smooth,

unwrinkled,

obedient

they swallowed

their own wildness

fed it to the fire

and called it love

carved their hope

into bread

that never rose

stitched silence

into pillowcases

and buried it

under their husbands’ heads

i wonder

how many

wanted to scream

until their lungs collapsed

but stayed silent

because good women

don’t make noise

good women

stay

but i didn’t

i cracked open the walls

broke windows

with my voice

spit out the rusty words

they left behind

i did not stitch my love

into his shirts

i did not scrub

my joy

off the floor

they stayed

because leaving

meant disgrace

meant hands on shoulders

pressing them back down

into the house

meant whispers

from women

who also wanted to go

but couldn’t

because children

because duty

because they couldn’t remember

who they were

before they belonged

to someone else

but i did

i gathered my bones

and my voice

and the rage

that they never let loose

and i left

barefoot,

broke,

unapologetic

i think about them

how they never saw the ocean

how they watched birds

fly south

and wished for wings

but only on quiet nights

when no one was looking

how they convinced themselves

love was supposed

to feel like holding your breath

and waiting

for the door to slam

i left

because loving

is not the same

as surrendering

because my hands

are not made

for scrubbing

out someone else’s sins

because my mouth

remembers

how to scream

my own name

without choking

they stayed

because they thought

they had to

because freedom

was an idea

tucked away

in the back of the cupboard

behind the flour

and the wedding china

freedom was

for other people

for women

who didn’t have

a house

to hold up

but i didn’t

i let the house

fall behind me

watched it crumble

without going back

to sweep up

the dust

i built my own

out of words

and noise

and the reckless

knowing

that love

should never

feel like suffocating

in a place

you were never meant

to stay

my ancestors stayed

but i didn’t

and now

the ground hums

under my feet

like it’s proud

that i left

that i remembered

what they couldn’t

sometimes

survival

means running

sometimes

love

means leaving

sometimes

freedom

is just

not staying

where they said

they should be.