It’s easy to forget where I come from, so busy trying to direct where I’m going.
It’s easy to forget I’m not alone, so caught up in making myself count.
And then, in stillness, they speak to me – these women I come from.
Oklahoma to west Texas in a covered wagon.
A third grade education.
Depression survivor.
Homemade jam.
Homemade soap.
Homegrown squash and fresh-drawn cream for sale.
Wring a chicken’s neck for dinner.
Chop cotton.
Church pot lucks. It’s God’s will.
Braids and bows.
Grease and dirt.
No gasoline.
No car.
A widow with three young children.
“Sorry ma’m, we’re taking your farm. “Like hell you will!”
Five little girls all in a row. Hand-me-down dresses hanging on the line.
Wringer washer.
No washer.
“Sorry ma’m, your little boy will never walk again.” “Like hell he won’t!”
Kisses, love, tears, laughs, tough, strong, kind.
Do what needs to be done.
You are us… we’ve come before you.
We’ve paved the way, to show you count.
To proclaim there is nothing more important than you.
Than us.
vivinolavita 