Postcard 7

It is exceptionally difficult to be a Daughter. No matter their age, nationality, complexion or socioeconomic standing, all Daughters have known real fear and incomprehensible shame.  The unluckiest of daughters know them as intimately as their own shadow. Terror and inadequacy flank them like domesticated Incubi: constant, undying, perfectly acceptable nightmares come to life. There are some places where Daughters cannot exist at all; where the day they are born is the same day they are slaughtered for daring to be anything other than a Son.  For some Daughters, death is the preferable option; history has never been kind to women. Not every household will become a Daughter’s tomb or prison or hell on earth, but even with featherbeds and indoor plumbing, cello lessons and 6 O’clock dinners, it is always a struggle: For freedom, for respect, for privacy, for love. 

Wish You Were Here. 

B