There were people here. They walked this land before it was called “country” “united” “states” or any other such possessive thing.
We sometimes remember them in feathers, magic, dreams, and flutes; they are so much more than that. We are all standing on their bones and shoulders.
For the Indigenous of this land, I am grateful.
There are folk who survived a passage called Middle. Who, when pressed down, rose up again, and again, and again. They still rise every morning, when I do. I hear their chants, stories, and prayers in trees and rivers, open fields, street corners, and church pews. The fabric of my being is woven from their blood.
For my Ancestors, I am grateful.
There is a man in our kitchen. He is cooking. He knows how to sew and grow green things. He can fix broken cars, doors, and hearts, to. His breath is my favorite song. For his love and partnership, I am grateful.
There is a short brown woman who can make a dollar out of two cents. She has Jesus on the mainline (all the time). She loved me before I existed. She can comb out the tangles in my hair and mind. For my mama, I am grateful.
There’s a lady who tucks my dreams under her heart and carries them everywhere. She used to let me steal her clothes and her cool back in high school. She taught me how to look fear square in the eyes and cuss fear and nem’ the f@ck out, then move on. For my big sister, I am grateful.
That’s a whole lotta words to say, I am grateful for what holds me: truth and love.
What are you grateful for?