Us Balkan girls are not taught reading, writing and arithmetic
We are taught how to suffer
We are taught how to suffer by our fathers
Uncles
Husbands
In churches
School
Homes
The world’s a classroom and our bodies the workbooks
We are taught we suffer
Because of biblical ancestress who willed it so
Because our foremothers were wicked witches
Always because of other women
We are taught to suffer in silence
So the neighbors won’t know
Or just loud enough so they’ll pray for us
We are taught how to bear our husband’s suffering
But not how to ease our own
We are not taught how to protect our bodies
Spirits
Dreams
But to accept that they will be taken from us
But we are also taught strength
When our mothers slip us the last crust of bread
Because we need it more than our brothers
We are taught love
When we see our aunties wipe each other’s tears
And tend to each other’s bruises
We are taught hope
When our sisters whisper of other worlds
Where women show arms free of bruises
Sing without the fear
Of throats being choked
And I was taught how to be part of an army of women
That broke the kitchen and burned the sarma
Ripped our jeans and cut our hair
Threw punches back
Because we decided to forget how to suffer
Rebecca Duras is a young writer who splits her time between New York City, Croatia, and Middlebury, Vermont. This is her first piece published in a poetry journal. She is also the proud parent of a succulent named Gamora.