Quote image editor
“This skin, stitched with the silence of each woman before me, tightens each time I try to move differently. My hands carry her habits folding towels with precision, biting the inside of her cheek instead of speaking. I learned early that a woman’s grief should look like grace. When I say I’m tired, I mean: my spine bends in the same places hers did. when I cry, It’s always near the stove, as if inherited sorrow prefers the scent of something burning. I try to unlearn her footsteps, walk backward through time, but even my sorrow wears her name.” — Maimoona Abidi
This skin,
stitched with the silence of each woman before me,
tightens each time I try to move differently.
My hands carry her habits
folding towels with precision,
biting the inside of her cheek instead of speaking.
I learned early that a woman’s grief
should look like grace.
When I say I’m tired,
I mean: my spine bends in the same places hers did.
when I cry,
It’s always near the stove,
as if inherited sorrow prefers
the scent of something burning.
I try to unlearn her footsteps,
walk backward through time,
but even my sorrow
wears her name.