“My Inheritance” a poem about mothers & daughters

My Inheritance

I was bequeathed a satin dress,
An inheritance passed from my mother
And from hers before, another
Lifetime has worn it, the treasured
Hand-sewn seams have measured
The woman inside.
The first time I tried
The fit I was nine (the old
tight-packed box, the wrapping, the fold
of slippery cloth) It first
Fit at seventeen. I was a burst
of full-blown curves and swells
that packaged nicely in the shell
of pink and white and pearl
(so dainty amid the swirl
of attic dust) the rhyme
Steady beating: it’s time, it’s time, it’s time
I’m finished and ready
For the world, yes and oh heady
Here I am
Here I am.

I was bequeathed a satin dress,
an inheritance passed from my mother.
I’d prefer a simpler style, another
Type of sleeve (fitted perhaps, less
poof?) and the bodice, I confess,
Is confining. And really, the dress is too long
(in places the cut is just wrong).
But to replace it would near
Break me.
The cost is just too dear.

~ ?Ruth Huizenga, 1980 ? (yes, that’s me)

I wrote this poem when I was a daughter, and not yet a mother. I was attempting to capture the way my life had been constrained by gender roles. Now that I’m a mother as well as a daughter, I see more nuance and feel more culpability.?I wonder if I’ve passed along similarly confining roles to my own daughters? Is such a thing inevitable between generations?

PS: The photo is of me and my mother, some 40 years after I wrote this poem.