Eyes of My Ancestors

My quiet time continues to bring more and more new results. The most recent in the form of a poem prompted by Christine @ Abbey of the Arts. Part of me hesitated to even post this here, because it feels a bit melancholy. However, there was something very powerful in writing it that gave me a new way to look at things.

When I think of my ancestors, I am reminded of stern faces and more often than not words of criticism rather than kindness. Maybe it was due to the serious times they were raised in or possibly the influence of the Bible belt, but there never felt like there was much, if any, room for play or imperfection.

In penning this reflection, however, I became very aware of the many dimensions of these ancestral women . While their words may have stung me deeply, I believe I can bring something new to the world by breaking their ancient patterns of hiddenness and propriety. I pray that through the realization of my own dreams and forgiveness, these women can be honored in new and glorious ways.

the eyes of my ancestry.
hollow & vacant. cold & elusive. barren of love.
are they my eyes? my fate?

do those eyes still watch & judge?
or do they weep for their veiled dreams?

might I be their eyes today?
might I see things differently & shed grace where once was derision?
might their eyes be washed clear by my tears?

the eyes of my ancestry.
are they watching now?
were they ever?

photo by christine.