All of the times
that you wished she was here
- tiny seeds of memory
who grew into longing -
are wrapped up
and swaddled tightly
in your cradle board.
Don’t believe the hype.
The real holy blood
that gave you life
came from your Mother.
<———————————->
Todos los tiempos
que deseabas que ella estuviera aquí
- diminutas semillas de memoria
que creció en anhelo -
están bien envueltos
en tu tablero de cuna.
No creas el bombo -
la verdadera sangre santa
que te dio la vida
vino de tu Madre.
©BrittanyJadeWilson
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Familiar songs weaving their way
throughout our lineage -
reminding, healing, and holding
us together.
Between every blade of Sweetgrass
there is the whisper
of those who inhabited this land before.
Earth remembering
the ones who left their offerings,
and loved Nature as their own
flesh and blood…
From underneath the suffocating burden
and salty tears
of
rape, molestation,
addictions, depression,
suicide, incarceration,
domestic abuse,
abandonment, neglect,
and even black magic;….