My mother, her mother and me
are sat here like Russian dolls,
The hurt, the expectations, palpable.
We’re all saying “Why didn’t you..?”
with our eyes.
As we sit, three generations of women
all loved and betrayed in equal measure.
By each other.
‘Why didn’t you care enough, understand me enough, love me as you should have’? we think
but we pass the tea and smile.
Good daughters, all of us.