Summons

I am not a mother or grandmother, at least not in the traditional sense, which is why I am filled with gratitude for the countless others who have chosen to share their children with me. There are few reminders more powerful of the preciousness of life.

And yet our headlines scream of death, the result of such carnage I am left without words. And so I rely on the admonitions of Aurora Levins Morales on the power of the maternal bond in the face of violence...

Last night I dreamed ten thousand grandmothers

from the twelve hundred corners of the earth

walked out into the gap

one breath deep

between the bullet and the flesh

between the bomb and the family.

They told me we cannot wait for governments.

There are no peacekeepers boarding planes.

There are no leaders who dare to say

every life is precious, so it will have to be us.

They said we will cup our hands around each heart.

We will sing the earth's song, the song of water, 

a song so beautiful that vengeance will turn to weeping,

the mourners will embrace, and grief replace

every impulse toward harm.

Ten thousand is not enough, they said,

so, we have sent this dream, like a flock of doves

into the sleep of the world. 

Wake up. Put on your shoes.

You who are reading this, I am bringing bandages 

and a bag of scented guavas from my trees.

I think I remember the tune. Meet me at the corner.

Let's go.