No fairy tales or ballads even. Just the music that suits the truth of the words you have to share.
What don’t we know? Please tell us everything. Not to justify or explain, this is not about those things. This is about showing us who you have been, the picture of each moment. Not through the lens of a make-it-pretty retelling, but through the voice of the reliable witness. She who sees who she was when it happened and can honor what was, no matter how ugly or beautiful any of it was.
Grandmothers, who were you when you baked pies and canned vegetables, when you held grand-babies with reverence, when you soothed the tears that others couldn’t? And then also tell us who were you when you married the predator, when your child died, when you gave your firstborn up, when you beat your child’s thighs with a switch, when you stayed silent to be good, when you taught your daughters how to castrate and flay the men in their lives just as your own grandmother had, when you swallowed your anger and held your tongue, when you lost the ability to stand straight on your own two feet and began to bend like an orchid? Sing us the song of those women that you were. Strong, weak, lost, terrified, wronged, bitter, angry, joyful, free, afraid, alone, relieved, caring, loving, nurturing, harsh, judgmental, condemning, welcoming.
Sing us the song of the steps on your path so we can remember that we came from somewhere. We came from a path you were part of. Show us so we can know what we are made of.
Tell us the truth, tell us everything. We want to know all of it.
If you have already passed and didn’t sing us your song, sing it to us from beyond. We will hear you. We are listening.
Please sing us your songs, Grandmothers.
Tell us who you were.
