My grandmother’s voice

was a tonic for lost souls.

Sixteen years old,

second story veranda,

hidden from view,

honor maintained,

she gripped hearts,

lifted closed eyes,

invoked the gods.

 

My grandmother spoke

with the spirit world,

received messages

from the beyond,

holding space

for the dead to meet

the earth-bound.

 

My grandmother’s love

was unconditional

for her sons, grandchildren.

Not so the daughters-in-law

who failed every test, 

never good enough

for her babies.

 

My grandmother suffered.

one side of her died,

though she tried

to revive it, over and over

biting her lip,

lifting the dead arm

with the living.

 

She taught me to sing

the old songs, to love

fiercely and fondly,

to try every day,

to be fully alive,

to join hope to drive,

and always remember the dead.

 

She taught me

that one person

can have two faces

and three lives

and one hundred pieces

of the truth wrapped in

a dozen lies.

 

I learned this all from her.