The Broken Jars

Standard

 

She plans her protest
tucks a handkerchief in her satchel
she writes slogans and fold them like flags
she wears that dappled jeans shirt
she never liked and will never again
she checks on her voice;
the one she’s been storing it in a jar

she makes sure no one suspects anything
mother worries too much; forgot her voice in the jar
father sides with gargoyles, till he became one
brother thinks only men go to square and become martyrs
sister thinks it’s not too late to find a husband

 she closes the door behind her
knowing her jaw might get broken
by men like her father and brother
her bones might sleep in a dirty cell
guarded by women like sister and mother

 she broke the jar and let her voice out
echoing across every square
her the sound of other jars
breaking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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