He hated it. The strength of my tongue
like he taught me to tame it. The fire that burned beneath my chest….
like he taught me to make a feast of my mother’s silence.
This wanton tongue of mine,
fashioned from the oppressed eyes and sighs of the supple bodies
sharpened edges doused in the tears of my women passed.
This tongue will no longer hold this weight.
She will soar free with no fear.