Why I Sing For Us

Part 1: Obligation

Do you really need to care

About every speck of suffering?

Do you really need to feel

Everything that walks

Across your heart?

Do you really need to say

Everything that dances

Through your mind?

Well yes, actually, I do.

Part 2: Looking Back

It’s caught in my throat.

The pain of five million women.

My grandmother’s grandmother’s

Grandmother’s cat, too.

All of them.

They’re staring at me now.

I can see them.

Leaning, swaying, stewing,

Smiling, sweet holiness.

Anticipation of the show.

They’re holding one another.

Some are weeping.

Some are screaming.

Some are lost in such pleasure

That I can hardly bear their hope.

And then, out of unformed tones,

They are transformed,

To a choir, dressed in velvet robes.

Singing my introduction.

Part 3: The Choir Waits

I’m backstage sweating.

Feeling every sensation,

That one small body can hold.

Feeling something akin to,

Let me see,

Humming quietly

In the shower, and then

Falling out of the sky

And landing in front

Of the entire world.

The choir is getting louder,

The audience too.

They’re whispering now.

Wondering where I am.

And why they paid so much,

To behold an empty stage.

Part 4: Panic

Why though, Spirits, why?

Why are you calling me to sing?

Don’t you know this voice of mine

Has a song

That you don’t want to hear?

Without saying a word,

They cackle!

The women - my women!

The choir stands prepared.

Grandma Silvie who

They say had schizophrenia.

Grandma Laya who read tarot cards.

Mama Suzi who died of a broken memory.

And little me, five years old,

Hiding in her closet.

Wholly terrified of the screaming

Down the hall.

They cackle and they plea:

Get on stage, damn it!

And free yourself,

Do it, please, for We.

Part 5: Entrance

Terrified, I enter.

To my left, it’s 1919,

To my right, 1983.

Then June, December.

A park bench in Madrid,

Where I fell in love,

For the very first time, with myself.

A room not far from here,

Where I sat alone,

Waiting for my mom and dad

To die.

Time and space,

A jumbled scene.

And then I start to sing.

It’s an aria that my voice

Recalls from some

Twenty-five years ago.

It starts like I remember.

Se tu m'ami…if you love me.

Sol per me…sigh for me.

Stop fantasizing!

I feel the choir shouting.

But they do not break

Their gaze.

Part 6: Crying

And suddenly my song shifts

To a melody,

Both forgotten and brand new.

It is a song that tells a story,

Where I birthed a Queen.

Her name is Dessa Rose,

My daughter, who knows

No fear or shame.

And uses the power of her joy

To unlock every cell.

Magnetic in her flow.

It is a song that makes every

Choir member cry.

The kind of crying that

Releases pain you

Didn’t even know you had.

The choir simply can’t go on.

I’m horribly ashamed.

I don’t know what I’ve done.

Blood rushes to my face.

And now my tears well up too,

Uncontrollable in their surrender.

I’m desperate to run away.

Part 7: Our Prayers for You

When suddenly, from stage right,

A frail old women,

My Great Grandma Rose

Floats toward me.

Silencing me with eyes.

Silly girl, why are you so sad?

Don’t you know

Of songs like rivers?

Songs that evoke the tears

Of our ancestors’ ancestors,

And unborn ancestors too?

Songs that let us know

Our suffering was not in vain?

That is your song, dear girl.

Sing for us.

I say nothing.

In her hand,

She is holding

A golden flower,

That she raises

To meet my eyes.

When she has my soul’s attention,

She slowly begins to pick

One petal at a time.

And with each,

She shares a potent prayer.

First, know that we can feel

How scared you are.

Please, dear girl, be scared.

Allow your fears to cry.

We will cry with you,

And then release your fear to dust.

A petal drops.

Second, know that we can see

The mask you wear.

Even though you insist it’s gone.

Please, dear girl, burn your mask.

We will light the match.

And dance with you in the flames.

A petal drops.

Third, know that we can hear

Your voice when you practice

Being brave.

Please, dear girl, be brave.

For you, dear girl, are the first of us,

Who need not be afraid.

A petal drops.

Finally, know that we can touch

The part of you that yearns

To be held and known.

Please, dear girl, stop thinking.

And we will fill you

With a love so exquisite

That you will feel the divine within.

A petal drops.

Soon the petals are scattered

Across the floor.

Circling me, cradling me,

Looking at me, like my mother,

On the day that I was born.

Part 8: All That’s Left

In my silence,

I turn to look

Behind my shoulder,

Wanting to see

The faces in the choir.

Hoping to glimpse my mother,

Grandmothers, daughter dear.

But nothing.

They’ve vanished.

So quickly have they scattered

That I wonder if

They were ever there at all.

But then a small flicker of light

Draws my attention

To a photograph on the floor.

I pick it up.

And holding it in my hands,

I feel the vibration

Of infinite voices

Woven into harmony,

Strong enough to birth new worlds.

And looking at the picture,

I see them again,

The choir of women.

They’re holding me.

And kissing me.

Pinching my cheeks the way

Grandmothers do.

And I feel

We have released each other.

In all of our pain,

Through time and space.

We’ve alchemized our longing,

Into a song so devotional,

That I need only start

To hum the tune,

To remember the ecstasy

Of who we are together.