I work for the ancestors. I have never worked for anybody else. Alice Walker To the Once Enslaved of Morris Hall: BlackberriesSweet blackberries and grass that smells of onionsWhere rivers cross by, carrying messagesTo the roots of the treesHere since the land was fertileAnd toiled. Here have set foot‘Scendents of yours
I wrote this poem about healing through our mothers, particularly from the pain of sexism and racialized gender violence.