(applause)
grandmother our common thread
began in my mama's womb
spun my fetus like a
record in her cipher
sampled your stubborn and
mixed in her fathers posture
our connection is full circle
abuela you bearer of children
you seer of spirits
you are truly miraculous
you are the whispers of
litanies and white tablecloths
your melody is captured
in the spilled
candle wax of my skin
my tongue's a broken needle
scratching through the
grooves of a lost wisdom
trying to find a faith
that beats like yours
what secrets do your bones hold?
what pattern does your
dust settle into when
I beat these drums
inside my ribs?
what color was the soil of
your grandmothers garden?
grandma how did you pray?
did you store the memory
of your creator in strands
of hair tucked into scented
soap boxes or placentas
buried under avocado trees?
what reservoir did you
pull your faith from?
was it anything like this gumbo
this sancocho
this remix of rituals and
chants sampled from muscle
memory and spirits that visit
my dreams that I struggle
to stir into discipline
to honor the unseen
with these shells this sage
these rudraksha and rosary beads
these white candles
crystals statues
this sweet water honey
rum and sweetgrass
abuela how did you pray
before someone told you
who your god should be?
how did you hold the earth
in your hands and thank
her for its fecundity
did the sea wash
away your sadness
how did you humble yourself
before your architect
did you lower
yourself to your knees
or rock to the rhythm
of ocean waves like I do
grandma how did you pray?
some say faith is for
the weak or small minded
but I search for
your faith everywhere
need it to reassemble myself
whole from these shards of
Chicago ice and island breezes
so I can rewrite the songs
of your silence and pain
your lonely fists broken
toothed smile and burdens
into a medley of mantras
wish you could have
shown me it's shape
but I know it's in
every sacred breath
in the shadow of trees
that you visit me in
in the flicker of flames I stare
into searching for what's divine
and I know my body is the
instrument my maker uses
to rearrange the broken
chords of your history
into a new symphony for my
unborn children's feet to
dance to and I see
you grandmother
gathering with your sistren
to chant the names of the living
and the dead and remind us all
that whether gathered
in marble temples
around a midnight fire
or block party speakers
we have always raised our
hands to the sky trying to
touch the invisible force
that holds these cells
together into a fragile mass
children of different
nations but the same vibration
we be sound to beat to
bass to bone to flesh
we be sound to beat to
bass to bone to flesh
we are all truly miraculous
(cheering and applause)
♪♪
