Woman. Sangre. Bones.
Ties us. Blood Rituals, tether us infinitely. Beyond generations, beyond time, beyond space. There’s a reason that stories written by Black and Brown Women resonate throughout time to all of their daughters. Timelessness of trauma to our bodies, our vessels, our souls, our spirits. Resilience marks us, like an infinitely healing wound, a long scar, we all share. We do our best to heal a piece of it. Our piece.
“My god, these wounds run deep,” we all say. We try and look at the caverns of the wound. The deep rushing waters that have all the power & fury to carry us under. How deep does it go? It is no surprise that some of us women stand on opposite sides of the river bank. Both of us looking at the wound, but neither of us fully knowing how to reach out and touch one another.
We share pain. We share tragedy. We are so, so good at it. It’s the oldest story of our Bones. It is often the first story we learn. Sucking the narrative right out of our mother’s breast. Nourishing milk of many stories, of Survival, Triumph, Beauty, Joy, and Pain.
[March 26, 2014]