The Children of Eda by Tiffany Nicole Fletcher

There is a calling and its pull is ancient:
to mother
and so be a partner with God;
to be a creator of a tribe,
a vessel.

Centenarian oak tree
under whose branches
many have been sheltered,
we know that our story began in you.
You,
the defier of storms,
she of sass and sharp tongue
who, though made of small frame
would put grown men in their places
if need be.
Eda. Mother. Granny.
Stander of every test of time. Strong one–
rest now.

For the first time in one hundred years
your hands will be completely silent.
Those hands that have carried babies
and grandbabies,
tended flora and coaxed beauty from the soil
hands that nurtured our Tata until his last day
hands that held hymnals, and turned pages in the Holy Book,
your hands fashioned flour and fruit into tarts to nourish us
and wove thread into lace,
cloth into dress.
Your hands made magic;
they fostered life.

And now your story continues to write itself
through us, the children of Eda:
for, we parent and we serve
we make beautiful things and
we sing songs unto the Lord
we live our faith,
we defy the odds
and we survive storms.
We are strong women
and men strong enough to love strong women.
We never give up; we always rise.

Granny, we are a whole field of oak trees now—
standing tall, we are your children,
a tribe full of overcomers.

In memory of Eda Flax, 1918-2019