The Women In My Family

The women in my family hail from a small Caribbean island.

They were healers, historians, storytellers -  a portal for generations to come.

Parents separated from children to find life and opportunities. 

True alchemist, transforming nothing into something and little to mighty.

Creative and quick - look they knew how to make a dollar stretch.

Watched them be mother, father, and provider.

Aren’t you ever tired? Where did you put your disappointments? Your depression, which I’m sure there was much?

I never saw it. Did you bury it? You hide it so well I thought you had none. 

I always felt your fierceness. Mama bear, shielding your young from pain.

You did it so well I relied on that strength I forget to cultivate my own.

Their true stories and heart concealed - you only see what you choose. You never dare to inquire.

You see destruction and chaos where I know there is perseverance and grace. 

In the midst of their fierceness, they were delicate flowers.

In full bloom, their presence and beauty fit for royalty. From their joy crafted the most scrumptious honey. 

So when you say, “Do you want to end up like your mother? Do you want to end up like your sister?”

I say, Yes! A thousand times - no breath needed, no hesitation, yes.

Because you do not know them or the power in this lineage.

Clearly, you don’t know me.