I remember this one time, I was riding in the church van with my great-grandmother and her church friends. It was like any other
Sunday. The service ended around 2pm. Earlier that week, I remember my grandmother hurting herself. she was doing some
housework. I think she was gardening or doing something in the shed. but she had a scar.. or maybe it was a bruise.
In the van her friend noticed. And looked at her with worry. She asked. and my great-grandmother with all the beauty, life, and
magic she could ever show, laughed and said,
“Aint nothing like when my old husband used to beat me”
They roared in laughter and I looked out the window. Numb. Not understanding a thing and worse not knowing how to feel about
the small piece of great-grandmother’s life that I had just stolen.
I now know and understand that that woman could never be harmed or touched. Her soul and vibrancy is her armor. Her spirit not
only grounds her but it also fights the battles that most women can not endure. She birthed nine children. Seven girls. And two
boys. She just turned a young 92. All of her children are still alive.
She is our matriarch.
She is our queen.
She is the root of my growth,
of my life.