Ash and Gardens

Jessica Sorya

She asks me, “What did I want at nineteen

that I have now?”

I answer,

“Nothing. Everything I wanted is gone.”

Every man I pedestaled, fell.

toppled over, head heavy.

Bless ‘em.

Cowards.

I’ve always been surrounded by women

scurrying,

cleaning dirt from their nails,

scrubbing blood from tile,

handling shit

when shit needed handling.

They stitched silence into their spines,

only let loose

when the liquor was heavy.

You should have seen them,

the men, watching

as they carried entire families

without flinching.

They’d bend,

but would not break,

even when the weight

wasn’t theirs to carry.

And me?

I studied.

Took notes.

Learned to smile through clenched jaw,

mastered love

without needing return.

I’m no longer building altars for ghosts,

fighting battles

while worshipping control.

Quieting my voice

to keep another’s strong.

I’m no longer burning myself

to keep their ego warm.

Let them fall.

I come from women who rise,

carrying handfuls of ash,

sifted through calloused fingers

and still.

Even still.

After everything has gone,

We plant gardens

and sow songs

More from Jessica Sorya ↓

• @jessicalynnvision on Instagram
• Her book, Pinch, Breathe, Burn, is out soon

You can listen to me read another poem by Jessica over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure