LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER
The morning after you find a ring hidden in your man’s car,
you run back home.
your mother holds you tight and let’s you spill all the betrayal.
you both go into the kitchen and try making dinner.
you end up chopping onions all night to mask your pain
no words are exchanged during this ritual.
you are both familiar with loss,
have both held funerals for the living.
the next day you fold your body into a cross,
try casting out the pain.
Your mother comes to check on you
and takes you into her arms.
she cradles you,
you cradle grief.
Christtie Jay is a Nigerian lawyer, freelance writer, poet and a spoken word artist who lives in Abuja, Nigeria. Christtie’s writings focuses on pain, love, violence and abuse. As she likes to put it “I like to write about things people pretend not to exist.” You can find her on Instagram @christtie_jay.