Poem by Abriella Guertin

Pictured: Abriella’s Mom, 2009

a month and five days after 9/11 
fourteen days before her 21st birthday 
my mother had a son 

a miserable baby 
colic and constantly crying 
a list of allergies 
longer than her loan payments 

first gen but still 
stuck in the family curse 
of a firstborn before a first beer 

my grandmother before her 
married on her 18th birthday 
the only way out of her parent's home 

both women with intertwined fates 

i look at myself 
if I were my grandmother, 
i’d be married with a daughter by now 
if I were my mother, 
i’d be pregnant by summer 

i look at myself. 
i have 5000 dollars in my bank account 
a stale messy room with no AC 
a floor covered in empty cigarette packs and orange peels 

how would I rise to this occasion? 
i couldn’t.
i’m the broke liberal arts student 
sleeping on a sheetless twin sized mattress 
like i always wanted 

like my mother did 
in her year at Emerson 
before the stain over home spread to Boston
and she had to come back 
all in the Universe’s plan to keep her in the trap 
i’m finishing the dream ripped from her 

my mother sacrificed her life 
so I’d never have to 

the power of these women lies within me 
if I’m willing to reach out and grab it but 
am I worthy to wield it?