Tuesday, October 14, 2008

An Ode to My Grandmother.

Grandmother, way up in the sky
Large and round like all grandmothers were at one time
Full with child.

Your light, a translucent layer of fine milk
Laid across all my skin, and cool like an evening breeze.
Your face pure and imperfect.

Silent guardian, tugging the waves back and forth
As Grandfather rises to bring us heat and light
A different kind of light.

And you, like all good women
Know that sometimes, regularly, you need
To go away for a day or so.

And when you return, bulging at the seams
People stop to look at you, and remember
In their own silent way

Whether they know it or not,
That they are deeply, desperately
Related to you.

Since you were born you have tugged at us
Showered us in the concealing illumination
Of your tender but not consuming embrace.

We have prayed to you, we have torn you away
From the breasts of all women, shot them down
As the men thought they could do to you too.

Still you shine. Still you rise.
And so it goes with all women, 
All over the world, for all time.

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