21/02/21

Dear grandmothers,

You are in my fingers,
As I knead the dough
As I braid my hair,
As I embroider.

You are in my voice,
As I sing a forgotten song,
As I whisper a last prayer,
As I speak words of love.

You are in my step,
As I turn and turn around,
As I run through hills and hills.
As I walk in dignified dignity.

You are in my heartbeat,
As I see other wise women
As I see other nurturing women
A I see other enduring women.

Dear grandmothers,
You are the mothers of my parents,
You are the mothers of my grandmothers,
You are the grandmothers of my great-grandmothers.

Whose eyes do I have?
Whose smile do I have?
Whose voice do I have?

I wander
I drift
I fly

To distant lands,
To distant tales,
To distant tastes.

Oh there…

This face,
This gaze,
This state

is so familiar.

What a long journey we have taken,
Mothers.

What a long story we have written,
Mothers.

What a long cloth we have purled,
Mothers.

By the grace of God.

Here we are.
Here I am.

How many more strands?
How many more filaments?
How many more studs?

You await my next move,
watching.

You await my next hope,
praying.

You await my next step,
hovering.

But neither of us know…

If this delicately woven fabric will

Have a new life
Have a new piece
Have a new glow.

Mothers,
Grandmothers,
Neither of us know if there will be more daughters.

As I kneel down and pray,
I hear echoes.

As I open my hand and heart,
I hear blessings.

As I wipe my tears and pages,
I hear consolations.

Long gone voices,
Long uttered prayers,
Long forgotten hopes,

of so many women who prayed.
of so many women who kneaded.
of so many women who weaved.

The same hope.
The same longing.
The same craving.

For a home.
For a hearth.
For a heart…

For the strong arms of a husband.
For the strong laughter of a child.
For the strong walls of a warm home.

I pray that you prayed as much as I do,
I hope that you hoped as much as I do,
I beseech that you beseeched as much as I do,

For those next lines of daughters,
For those next lines of mothers,
For those next lines of grandmothers,

Who will remember us in rising bread.
Who will remember us in every thick braid.
Who will remember us in every embroidery.

And will keep the song echoing

Through the timeless mountains,
Through the restless waves,
Through the breathless forests.

On and on,
And on.

By the grace of God.