In a late November dream
that only now I can redeem
I saw my grandmother clad in angelic white.
She was riding her meek donkey
through the shimmering haze between eternity,
heaven and hell. I strove and strove,
but could not fathom
what brought her back. A promise she could not
keep to the gathering tribes? Or a peace offering
to smooth over current tensions?
Like Tanit, she beamed with fervent zeal
& motioned towards the hills and the plains,
the rivers and the mountains. She said: this is
where you and every offspring belong.
Plant more trees along your streams,
feed the chirping birds and buzzing bees,
they will do their part under no conditions.

I reckon, the matriarchs return
to renew the covenants, repass the pledges
and reveal the past in the present.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Austin Curtis on Unsplash