My grandmother’s career options were
a nurse
an office assistant
or a teacher.
The women in my family don’t follow instructions well and we are a little bit woozy so teacher it is.
Educator it is
Holders of knowledge and
molder of minds it is
Givers of time it is
Drinkers of red wine it is
Essence of kindness and
feminine Divineness it is
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Writer she was
And fighter she was
And hug the people you love a little bit tighter she was
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But hurt she was
A bit curt she was
And go outside but don’t track back in dirt she was
Wrigthow
Traumatized we are
And dramatized we are
And “honey why don’t you let me drive the car” we are
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For all the patience she has
Complaisance she has
And where did I last see her face where she has
Light in her eyes
And spite in her thighs
And generations of “this is not right” in our cries
The movement we hold
On this stage makes us bold
And the stories from our hips in this dance will be told
Of the towels to fold
And the babies to hold
And the way that our power will not be controlled
My grandmother couldn’t have her own bank account until the year after her second daughter was born.
In 1963 my mother opened her eyes for the first time.
She had no idea what she was seeing yet or that it would all change.
Swaddled in blankets until she was old enough to
Swaddle her dollies in blankets until she was old enough to
Swaddle her daughter in blankets until I was old enough to
Swaddle my dollies in blankets until I was old enough to make any choice that I want
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What if my grandmother was born today?
Reporter she might be
Explorer she might be
Building houses with red bricks and mortar she might be
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A dancer she might be
A freelancer she might be
A “screw it all and give this a chance” -er she might be
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This is all in sight for me
They all had to fight for me
They screamed so things might end up alright for me
The darkness still frightens me
But these women lighten me
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Momma showed me how to walk with my hands on my keys
How to say thank you and please
And how to hold space for a friend and to pour them some tea
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How to cry when it’s sad
And to laugh when it’s silly
And how to bundle myself up in layers when it’s chilly
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A teacher she is
A daughter she is
A mother she is
A sister she is
A person she is
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Women we are
About the Author
Leah Hall has recently moved to Nelson and has been falling deeply and madly in love at every turn she makes. Naturally this has made for some good writing inspiration and she has been pumping out musings and poems like there’s no tomorrow! You can either find Leah tearing up the dance floor or crocheting on the couch.
