To carry daughters before they are daughters.
To shelter generations inside one body.
To become a vessel of cells
before a mother has a name.

To be one of the greats.
To be raised among siblings.
The sole survivor of scarlet fever.
To outlast empty cupboards.
To then pass down resourcefulness.
She gains a new fear of never having enough.

To bring life to a grandmother.
To be the one who stood for equality.
To march in the streets towards women’s rights.
To return home to whisky on his breath.
She holds the bruises, wondering if she will ever be enough.

To give life to my mother who hides the burdens
Too determined to be anything less.
To work for a greater life.
To sacrifice for the greater love.
To bleed as she carries the egg.
He provided support, the sperm,
That transformed me from myth into flesh.

But what am I to carry?
To be raised with opportunities?
To be born with grit and grief?
To have the possibility to nurture my eggs?