“I see the ancestors’ existence as parallel to our own. We are here and so are they.” Francesca Mason Boring, Connecting To Our Ancestral Past
called forth yet again
as if for the very first time
with the same energy the womb
thrusts the newly emerging
child into the world.
At first, the stars seem reluctant
to show themselves as if they await
some sign proving
our valor, persistence,
our curious nature
even in the thickness of the dark.
Or perhaps we have no eyes
to see those pinpricks of salvation.
We root for the food source,
like a nursing babe
oblivious to the colander of starlight
piercing our hearts.
Blame the long winter, huddled
alone and lackadaisical, yet
without this darkness, we might
destiny calling, tempting us
from the deadly grip of our fate.
Shining through the connections
the lost tribe clutches us
from the other side.
We need them now
more than ever, our urgent call
oblivious to their constant presence.
The stars biding in broad daylight
as spring swells seedpods,
tiny roots push upward
through the deep, cold dirt,
echoing our yearning