We women fall into place,
oldest to youngest,
for a photograph meant to document
coming together
            of four generations we represent.

Will picture show our strength, our
determination?
No. All I see is damned resignation
to what it is to 
            be female a in this fine family.

Before us: a hill and at
its top a shed full
of dark secrets, cold truth about me. No
one can see. All things 
            unpleasant are cloaked in hushed secrecy.

Having learned lessons handed
down to me, I smile,
because it is the appointed time to
smile. Later I will 
            watch clouds gather in eyes that sparkle now.

Chastised, criticized for act
of defiance and
disregard, I brace for fallout, know I
will have no cushion;
            there will be no soft place to fall tonight.

Let it be then. I’ll suffer
silent scorn if it
might smooth the way for daughter of my dreams,
child of mine unborn.
            What will she know of the generations?

My mother and her mother
and her mother, too…
their laughter bubbles up, spills out in tears
on this photograph.
            First to break the mold, I take one small step.