This is what a curse looks like:

A woman who remembers.

A mouth that doesn’t close.

A body that says no

and means it.

They thought they could silence us

with fear,

with fire,

with pretty little cages

.

But they forgot—

we come from witches.

From women who bled into rivers

and made them run gold.

From mothers who screamed curses into lullabies

and meant both.

This anger?