generations

I was raised by my grandmother in language designated for just the two of us.  Her words were always spoken with the best intention.  This woman brought my soul to fruition, made dumplings out of my misery and taught me how to pray.  Her fables brought me through puberty and her stories introduced me to characters named ambition, perseverance and humility.  She is my living journal in whom I confide all of my secrets in with permanent ink.  The two of us speak unconditional love fluently never stumbling over action words like trust, grow and hope.   I used to listen to her stories until I realized that I am her story.  I am the third generation of women who have raised children on pennies, loved men without morals and have cooked feasts with morsels.  

I became a woman in this native tongue of ours learning that life was more than living.  She is my soul, the ink in the stroke of my pen and if I write, it is because she let me hear my own voice.