I am the daughter my mother raised to confront them
with grievance’s command.
I am the daughter she trains
to translate lightning.
I am the half-deaf child she assigned
to tone-deaf judges.
I am the girl
riding shot-gun to iron.
I am birthing feet first
with no mid-wife to catch.
I sprint, high-jump,
and fist-fight in her defense.
I am a dialect
born inside her quietude.
I susurrate incantations
transcribing her rivered idioms.
She is rivered remembering,
and I am her subpoenas.
Copyright © 2024 by Margo Tamez. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 5, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.