Written by Yoda Olinyk
I tumbled from the school bus, tears ripping down my face.
My friend Amber’s Mom had died. My own mother
might have tried to soothe me, but her attempts
at motherhood sometimes stung. Stop crying, settle down.
Sadness poured from me, a bright yellow yolk, I was always
so much softer than the other kids, softer than
my mother. Her grief was a daily ritual, as limitless
and consistent as the sun, but it did not come from death.
Years ago, her mother's mother's mother's mother
was taken in the middle of the night. Was forced
to work. Forced to birth. And someone told
her, stop crying, settle down.
.
Yoda Olinyk (she/her) loves to make people comfortable, which is too bad because she is a poet. She is the author of three books and her work has appeared in many beloved journals, including Rattle and The Shore.