Avril Peng

my mother has a necklace of pearls,
gifted from her mother
made from pure, luminous anger
a birthright,
passed down through generations

it starts with a speck of irritation
she rolls it around in her calloused fingers,
slathering it with pent-up anger
in an oyster-shell of her own tired hands

it’s unbearably heavy,
so, she passes it to her daughter
mine to carry, the cause of such ire

the pearl burns my skin,
blisters bubbling around a gleaming sphere
i am sorry that she has had to hold it
that scars seep over her once-delicate touch

but i resent the fact that she passed it on to me
my irritation heavy on my tongue
and so i spit it out,
turning over the offending resentment in my grasp
holding onto it every night

before i realise,
i’ve made another pearl
another jewel to slip onto the
endless string of the necklace.

–

Avril Peng is a fifteen year-old aspiring writer from Alberta, Canada. She adores her cat, who seems like an old man. Much of her time is spent daydreaming away, often with a pencil in hand. In her writing, she enjoys exploring the depths of horror and the complications of human relationships.