well-woman

the woman

in the house

behind my mother’s

forever leaping into wells

got on my mother’s nerves

‘why can’t she do the damn thing

when the well is full?’

she would fume

knowing full well

it was only a cycle

rinse, rise, repeat.

we were not so poor then

we were not so poor then

we spoke English

had running water

and tins of food from England

from those who left 

before us

our possession

of this tongue alone

was enough for mothers

to send their children 

to our garden

even after our mother left

(but what gave us street cred

were those instant soups)

we were not so desperate then

even when the same blood

running in our veins

started running in the drains

for our mother

in short, sharp sentences

told them what we were (not)

but then

we had running water

tins of food from England

a mother who could speak

their tongue

who told us to

SHUT UP