Ancestors

Witches and ministers,

Artists and healers,

Restless travelers.

Roots growing deep,

Exploring the mysteries of the heart,

The geography of love,

And, sometimes, madness.

They still have stories to tell,

Follies, missteps, ignorance

And wisdom.

When I am still,

They whisper,

And when I falter,

The reverberation of their voices,

Shakes the ground beneath me.

“Learn” they whisper,

“Wake up!” They shout.

“Hear us, for your cells are ours,

And ours are yours.”

“Lean into us,

And feel the embrace of centuries,

Of lives lived,

Not yet spent by time or grave.”

May I open,

And be steeped in the strength

Of generations.