Written piece
Intertwined within my veins
Marissa Wong
Fiji
About this piece
Before Nails, Fijians used Magimagi as a rope to hold their homes together. In this poem, the magimagi signifies the narrator's ancestry, which has been the same story repeated over each generation. However, the narrator's mum breaks free from it and builds a new future.
Intertwined within my veins
Like the fibres of a coconut husk
Beaten and braided into magimagi
Solely for upholding
the heavy weight of a structure
stands a generation of women
with quivering lips and red eyes
words stuck within their throats
while versions of stories are whispered amongst the crowd
her own side, deeply buried
not a squeak ever heard
even as the coffin slams shut over her body
even as the funeral goers turn to leave
Like a cycle of a wave;
Like the turmoil of a whirlpool
a generational curse, a never-ending story.
One woman threads her family's magimagi
the identical fibres weaving the exact same prose
Passed down by each mother- bruised lips and black eyes
trace a finger down the magimagi
you will find it all alike
coarse-brittle-thin
the textures of each strand that grew
and yet bound together; a never-ending rope
the DNA of each matriarch
intertwined within my veins
The constant reminder
Of what could’ve, what would’ve
And what should’ve been stopped
And yet one dares to put it down
Despite abuse screamed from all around
Expectation rested upon her crown
The village awaiting to watch a play with an alternating cast
"You will end up just like your mother,
Pregnant in the village and with no husband!"
With shoulders sagged she felt the pain
Daring to ablaze she set it all aflame
The built weight that the magimagi was meant to uphold
Fiercely charred right down to ash
The village still stood, but expectations had shattered
Realization flooding in that this time her life mattered
But among the rubble, and despite the trouble
the magimagi lay- untouched, unscathed
This, she realized- her fingers plucking it from the ground,
Was the being of existence that her mother ever lived
The stories left untold coursed through her blood
Never spoken, never written
Yet cheekily hidden between the lines
Thin and light- she held it in her palms,
Untouched by flame and yet edges frayed
So, she moved to plait the rest
A new way paved through all the mess
Its not uniform or perfect
and its barely even dressed
The edges are still fraying
But the burden it was tied to; long gone to ash
The past is much lighter to carry
A magimagi woven with flowers and gold
That is what she prepares to hand to me
Not perfect, nor uniform
and yet holds more than it weighs