A Silent Surrender

A Journey Through the Shadows of Tradition

A Photo of My Twelve-Year-Old Mom in Boville, Italy, circa 1965

Mere months have passed,
and what remains
is my mother in memory—
sepia-toned snapshots
of a woman who battled
tirelessly to wrest her life
from the iron grip of duty.

She was a pawn,
a fragile piece in a game
where her worth was reduced
to one less mouth to feed.

The marriage was
a calculated transaction,
a ledger where her hand
was traded without a glance,
no hard-fought bargaining
between the father of the bride
and the man who would claim
her as his own.

And like the final, shuddering breath
of a heart in its last throes,
she surrendered in silence.
One day, she was a carefree child
roaming the sunlit fields of her home.
The next, she emerged into a world
as stark and unforgiving
as winter’s dawn, a woman
whose dreams were sacrificed
on the altar of tradition.

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Author’s Notes: My mom was promised to her future husband at twelve and married him a year later. She had her first child at fourteen and four boys by the time she was twenty. In total, she had six children. This would be her life, dedicated to her husband and children. Through it all, my parents remained married until my father passed away in 2020, after fifty-four years together.

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As always, a heartfelt THANK YOU for taking the time to read my poem. Without you, my voice would be a whisper, just floating in the air.

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