young ones
you glance
in my direction
but you do not see
your eyes slide off me
as if I wear my gray hair
my fine lines
like a woven cloak
of invisibility
should I strip myself
in front of you
baring my vulnerability
baring my rage?
could you then see
what lies beneath?
this bridge
called my back
anchored with bone
cabled with nerve
built on a foundation
of blood
and tears
calcium phosphate
and pain
arched with collagen
and passion
has carried the weight
of mothers
has carried the weight
of daughters
has lifted you higher
than I was taught
to dream
your toes dug deeply
into my ribs
as you pulled yourself up
on my shoulders
and the shoulders
of my sisters
history might forget us
but the bridges
of our backs
will remain

© 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved