my mother’s mother.
i can’t tell you about her. the length of her hair. what made her laugh. would she care i have tattoos?
i wish she could see my sisters. i want to know what obscure tendencies they share with her. i want to see her in us. i want to be so angry with her for letting our history be lost to time.
why do i - why should i feel so separate from a part of me that is screaming to be seen.
i can hear her. i can picture it. she teaches me, every learning moment, she teaches me like it were tradition to begin with.
i should never have made her wait so long. i should have learned all of this when she was here.
how many times am i going to discover what more was kept secret from me. it should be a gift. it should be sweet. why should it feel like recovery
