The women in my family have charms and secrets hidden in a hand me down box
We do not talk about the contents inside, not a tale to tell twice
Coats, sweaters, pants, and scars
Slipping misfortunes under the lid, used tissues and words better left unsaid
To survive, there are things that must be left behind
Stories of empty nights, dresses too big to be worn by children, clothes that marked the loss of innocence
The box is sealed until the next daughter comes to take used clothing
Then donate their nightmare to a new home
A box of abuse and silence
Passed onto the next generation
Price paid by the one’s before us
A sign of womanhood for the next little girl
Teach them how to hide their bodies in plain sight
Something sons and brothers never had to know
I will not pass this box down to my daughters
The one that was passed down to me, the box that holds my own story
The ghosts of my lost women watch me,
Silent long before death, doing as they were taught
With this match, I set this hand me down box aflame
And the women cry… victory.
Kenya Burton Poetry 