furies | by Therese Doherty
black is our colour, darkness our home / and red blood flows through our chthonic bodies / its own bright unlight
lighting lightless eyes with fury
that motion through emotion – anger – arrives
teller of troubling truths, revealer of wrongs
we’ve been told, we women, not to feel it
certainly not to show it
so unladylike, so inappropriate
but we do feel it
who can blame us?
we are human, after all
wilfully wronged and restrained
forced into shapes not our own
taught no other way
we push our anger down, hold it in
feel it thickening in our throats
until our voices flee
this is what they want
rage flares within
burns our hearts to black
and we cannibalise ourselves
until all that remains are empty
silent shells
they delight at this
what they do not understand
– and what we are remembering – is that
black is our colour, darkness our home
and red blood flows through our chthonic bodies
its own bright unlight
we endure because life endures
(despite hollowness and enforced silence)
by virtue of the dark
its womblike circumference
its still sanctuary
and because of that pure, beautiful blackness
they do not see
when our shells ossify, become armour
that protects us as we sprout
wide shadowy wings that fly us to freedom
then we open our throats and speak truth
singing serpent-tongued and winged
as we always were
for it is our furies that show us the way
Therese Doherty lives with chronic illness and occasionally writes and makes art, but mostly just reads a lot. She can be found here: @offeringsfromthewellspring.
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