When you speak,
your grandmother’s warm, worked hands
strum the strings of the instrument
that is your voice
Embracing your heart,
she pumps blood through your veins,
supplying you with the fuel to be
a self that knows she is not just one.
You carry the legacy of a lineage
on your back,
like your grandmother bore your mother.
On your shoulders
of an honest people who have known suffering.
You are a self of other selves,
the message speaks like medicine
to the loneliness you’ve been served.
The cycles and terrors of injustice
try to digest you and spit you up,
centuries of resilient blood and bones
make up body your borrowed body
and bring you back
To continue the good fight,
laying the bricks and mortar
on the road towards the world our ancestors dreamt